


There She Goes

by saint sentiment (cmm6016)



Category: Silent Hill
Genre: Gen, Silent Hill 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-02
Updated: 2013-06-11
Packaged: 2017-10-20 22:44:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 39,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/217900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cmm6016/pseuds/saint%20sentiment
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post "Leave" ending. After being convicted of murder and sent to prison, James' future doesn't look so bright. Then nearly a decade later, an old friend comes around to give him what he thought he'd never have again. James/Laura.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. There She Goes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I set this story in 2004 for two reasons: I wanted Laura to still be a teenager, and I didn't want James to be in his 40's. So Laura is 18 and James is 39.
> 
> The Silent Hill Wiki holds that Silent Hill 2 takes place 10 years after the events of the first Silent Hill. A calendar in Maria's Born From A Wish scenario potentially puts the year at 1994. If you read the diary on the hospital roof, which may be Mary's diary, James went to Silent Hill around the end of May in 1994. Therefore, Silent Hill might have taken place in 1984. Seventeen years later the events of SIlent Hill 3 would be in motion, potentially putting the game in 2001.

If 9 years in prison had taught him anything, it's that the world loves to beat a man when he's down. Prison was no walk in the park, even though he was careful not to offend anyone and minded his own business. Even his lawyer said he'd be preyed upon. The most sinister of them whispered behind his back about how pretty he was, and someone even jokingly warned him not to drop the soap. But it wasn't that simple anymore. If they wanted you, they would have you.

He didn't fight them. He was sure he deserved it. In fact, he was ready to accept whatever they threw at him. He ended the life of the most precious person he ever knew. And it wasn't even a merciful death. A slow asphyxiation was no happy way to go. Nine years seemed a small price to pay compared to all the years he might have took off Mary's life.

He'd read in the books about cancer patients whose bodies miraculously eradicated the tumors that were killing them. That God would smile on Mary, he hadn't been too hopeful about, but at least the fact that it had happened to someone somewhere would calm a few overwrought nerves from time to time.

As if it mattered now.

Now, in a dilapidated apartment, with only expired junk food in the cabinets, a closet with three outfits, and no desire to see the following morning, James laid his head on the armrest of the couch and stared at the cracks in the ceiling. Mary's letters echoed in his mind still, especially all the years he slept in a cold cell. If Mary could see him now, she would have forgiven him a long time ago.

His lawyer liked to remind him that he was very, very lucky. He was originally sentenced to 12 years for the deaths of Mary and Eddie, and they almost pinned Angela on him too because he had her knife in his pocket. Hell, they wanted to argue that he might even have assisted Angela when she killed her father! Mary's remaining family were really pushing for life, and James didn't mind, but his lawyer cared far too much to let that happen.

They let him out a year ago on good behavior. His father picked him up. The car ride was silent and damaging, and James almost cried. His father always knew when someone didn't want to talk about it, and he respected that. He just wished he could have taken away the look of shame from his father's old, tired face.

He closed his eyes and his frown deepened. What did Joseph see in him? Why did he try so hard? Just so his client could lay on an old, dirty couch and contemplate the meaningless of his life?

And Laura. Why had she just sat there and said nothing when she was called to the stand? It only got him and Joseph in trouble, because the other lawyer accused Joseph of telling her not to testify. As the only remaining witness, the lack of her testimony would make the case fall apart.

But that sleazy lawyer, Stan, must have threatened her. The next day in court, she burst into tears and spilled everything. She told the court that, yes, James had confessed to her that he killed Mary.

“But he's not a bad person! Mary was sick! She was suffering! Honest!” she cried.

It boggled his mind.

Maybe she just didn't want to go back to the orphanage. Maybe she had thought they could still be together, and he could be the daddy she never knew. Some part of James wanted to tell her that could never be. Even if it were an another world where Mary died naturally, they would never grant him legal custody of her in court. He would still be a disturbed widower prone to alcoholism and perverted, unrealized sexual fantasies. He would still be a man that regularly visited the strip clubs and stalked the women who reminded him of Mary. He would still be a chain-smoker. And besides, he hated kids. Mary never knew this, and perhaps some part of him was actually happy that she died before they could start a family.

He was a sad old beast. He didn't deserve a lawyer like Joseph, and he didn't deserve Laura's sympathy.

James was too much of a coward to actually kill himself—but he did fantasize about it a lot. Sometimes he wondered if he could will his heart to stop in his sleep and go that way. He'd tried but it ended up being too painful. A sorry old man who witnessed the horror of Silent Hill and the horror of prison was still afraid of pain. It was a sad diagnosis.

Aside from his fear of pain, he couldn't oust Victoria. She checked up on him too often for him to be able to pull it off. She was like Joseph, except he suspected that Victoria was a feminist who was deeply offended by his crime against a woman, and wanted him to suffer as long as he lived. She said she didn't believe in hell, so people might as well get punished as much as they could for their sins while they were alive.

Knocks resounded from the door. Sounded like Victoria. She usually came around 6 or 7 every week or so to check up on him. He forced himself from the couch, walking to the door while his fingers wrestled with his groggy eyes. He was only seeing painful spheres of red, orange and yellow exploding in his vision from having his eyes closed too long. James fumbled with the doorknob and somehow got it open.

“Sleeping?”

Victoria was an unusually involved probation officer. When she began visiting him in his apartment once a week to every other day, constantly reminding him to shave and tidy up the apartment after work, he began thinking she had too much time on her hands and needed to get a boyfriend. Either that, or she was just a sadist.

“No. Standing.”

Victoria hadn't taken offense to such a remark; sarcasm had become a staple of his character. “You're getting better with the cleaning, I guess.”

“Yeah..” James finally got his sight back and sighed disinterestedly. “So what's the problem now?”

She turned from inspecting the kitchen, slanting her bright eyes. “I don't only come here when you're in trouble, you know. I just wanted to check up on you and make sure you're okay. It's not good for you to be alone all the time. It's not good for anybody.”

“Not good for anybody? Well, it's good for me.” James sat down on the couch and decided to rest his eyes more.

“I actually wanted to tell you something, though. You may or may not be interested.”

Another sigh. “What?”

“An officer in California arrested a middle-aged woman for threatening a bar owner, and when they bring her to the station it turns out her ID's a fake. So for a while they were having trouble finding out exactly who this woman is, until someone decided to take her prints, and they turned out to be those of a Cybil Bennett..”

James' eyes popped open. “Cybil Bennett? You mean the cop who disappeared in Silent Hill in the early 80's?”

“Yep.”

“Holy crap.”

“Yeah, boggles your mind, doesn't it?”

“Sure does.” James turned to her. “You never believed me, though. What I said about what happened there.”

Victoria sighed. “I just don't believe the part about the monsters. I know that place is a spook town and everyone thinks it's haunted, but I don't believe anything unless I see it. And you weren't in the sanest of states when you went there anyway.”

“...I know.”

 

 

James tried to keep his mind on ordering the files, but they didn't require much thought. It was like sorting apples and oranges most of the time, and it had a bad habit of getting really monotonous. But sorting and thinking was what he did best. His father also said he had a gift of patience. The patience to sit and think about a problem before solving it, coming up with new strategies. Lord knows it saved him in Silent Hill. It took him hours on some of them. At several points, he had to walk around the desolate and depleted surroundings until the answer came to him. Walking usually helped him think.

His experiences there were like a mental trap even now. Thinking about one thing led to another. Monsters chasing him from corner to corner, Maria appearing and disappearing, dead one moment and alive the next—he still hadn't figured it all out. He had gone to a psychology professor at Ashfield University and handed him rough sketches of what he had seen. James thought it would be easier to make up a lie, and so he told him that these creatures had suddenly begun to appear in his dreams every night. And so, through the knowledge of James' painful past, the man offered his theories.

The Straight Jacket thing... it must have been a symbol of Mary. She was always tossing and turning like that thing did, and yelled at him like that thing spewed poison at him... It made sense.

The man was baffled at first with Red Pyramid. What could he mean? Then the man called him one evening after a lecture. He said the only possible explanation, given James' dreams of being pursued and tormented by this creature, was that he was an executioner whose role was to punish him for a terrible misdeed. The man kindly asked if James' had perhaps treated his wife harshly sometimes, but he ended up getting defensive. No, he could never do that! He loved Mary! He did!

He did...

“You alright, sugar?” A firm, manicured hand touched his shoulder.

James took his fingers off the bridge of his nose and opened his eyes. “Oh, yes. Sorry, Bettie. I think I'm getting a bit of a headache.”

Bettie shrugged her plump shoulders. “Don't worry. This job gives _errybody_ a headache.”

It was a tad sad to admit, but Bettie was the only person he genuinely respected at work. Or even talked to, for that matter. She had a fiery temper and snapped at the customers sometimes, but underneath her tough exterior, she was a fiercely committed African American woman. She had the strange tendency to “adopt” those she approved of, and so James became to her a son of sorts. Funnily enough, in Bettie's mind, his name wasn't James but “sugar”. He supposed at the end of the day he appreciated her babyish doting, as no one ever paid too much mind to him after he was released. Despite disliking most forms of social contact, he could make do with a friend or two.

They brought him back into reality.

Sometimes he had dreams he was running through Silent Hill, just running and running. Dozens of monsters at every corner, tearing at his sleeves, the lapels of his green jacket. Spraying that hot, black, sulfurous gas at him, and him falling to the ground and choking helplessly as 3 or 4 of them slowly closed in.

“Sir?”

“Uh, yes?”

A young woman and her little girl were standing at the counter, wanting some information on the due dates for a certain package. He was at the coffee machine, and his cup was a second from overfilling.

“Does this have free economy shipping? It said on the website that if I sent it in, it'd be free..”

James would have loved to say something like 'Look, lady, if the damn website says it, then take their word for it!' Of course, he was far too reserved for such a remark. “..Yes, it's free.”

Technically, he wasn't even supposed to be talking to her; he just went out to the coffee machine to get a quick drink and the lady immediately addressed him. Where was Marjorie?

The woman handed the package to him as if she was expecting this answer, and he placed it in the back room so he could label it properly. Marjorie was really the person who was supposed to be doing this for him. Victoria herself laid down the law: “Your job is in the back, so stay in the back.”

He always felt a little guilty when he inadvertently disobeyed her, but most of the time it was just an honest mistake. Every now and then someone mistook him for a front desk person and asked him questions.

He wished that people would stop treating him like he was too dangerous to be around others. He wasn't that crazy—who did they think they were dealing with? A reformed serial killer? A former Mafia hitman?

James closed the door behind him and sighed. Just 1 more hour and his shift would be over. Despite the occasional anxiety this job would bring, he did have to admit that he lucked out. Victoria was meticulous enough to get him an interview with USPS, despite everyone telling him he'd never be able to get a government job with his felony. And she miraculously landed him with 1st shift. James used to loathe jobs that didn't let you loose until it was late, but back then he actually had something to go home to.

 

 

The subway car ricketed from side to side every now and then, pushing people forward and back again. A few people bumped into him without an apology. He didn't mind as much anymore—it used to be that he would bump into someone in the lunch line in jail and get pummeled for it, even if he apologized. Any accidental act was seen as a blatant challenge to their manhood or something—it was insane. It was dangerous even to brush up against someone, because depending on who you crossed, they could either take it as a hostile gesture or a sexual invitation. James shivered. He was one of the lucky ones. He was only taken advantage of twice, with both times being practically unconscious so he didn't have to actually feel a foreign man's hands dragging over his skin.

The car stopped. He turned and waited for the pregnant woman in front of him to pass, and out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a girl who had been staring at him. Her blond hair stopped midway down her back. Two side sections of her hair were tied back with a girly butterfly clip. In the daze of the moment, people scoffed and jostled past him. One particularly rude old lady expressed the disapproval of the passengers when she cried “Move it!”

James unwillingly turned away from the girl as she exited the car. Alas, when he reached the platform and looked around, she was nowhere to be found.

His thoughts were suddenly whirring like a blender. That couldn't really be her, could it? He hadn't seen her since the day he was arrested. The last he heard about her was from Joseph, and he said she was living in Brahms—a day and a half away from Ashfield. He furrowed his brows and walked up the stairs. There's no way she could have found him again. Why would she want to walk around in a ditch like this?

Finally at home, James switched on the TV. He was hoping they would mention Cybil Bennett in the news—after all, Ashfield is close to Silent Hill, and quite a few people from this town vanished there, so she would be more than relevant for a news story. After a long 15 minutes, in which various reporters went on about upcoming events in the town and the new YMCA Center that would be here in the summer, they aired a short segment on the until-now missing police officer.

_Cybil Bennett, a cop that went missing in Silent Hill in 1984, has reemerged into the public eye after nearly 20 years of absence that caused her case to run cold. Following an arrest at the Dalewood Bar for threatening the owner, authorities say she carried more than 5 fake ID's with her, along with various items..._

She looked like a hag now. She had to be pushing 50, because her photos on the internet before the time she disappeared would put her at her late 20's, early 30's, tops. She had to have been at least as old as he was when he went to Silent Hill.

_...Had ventured to Silent Hill all those years ago with a young writer named Harry Mason, who died in 2001, brutally murdered by an unknown assailant..._

Harry Mason? He had a daughter who also went missing in Silent Hill, but she turned up a few days later...

_Authorities have not yet confirmed if she will be investigated for his death, but our sources have confirmed she is currently in custody and is being questioned about the events that led to her disappearance..._

_...We will update you with any further information..._

_They'll all laugh at her_ , James thought sadly. No one would ever believe her, just like Joseph and Victoria never believed him. He turned off the TV and stretched out his body on the couch. His eyes closed again. He began and ended his days this way, couch-ridden and drowned in his thoughts.

If Laura really was on the subway car, then wouldn't she have said something? Or maybe she was just a figment of his imagination, like Maria..

Maybe this whole thing was just a dream, and he would wake back up in his cold cell, wondering how long he had been out.

_“James?” The graveyard was shrouded in fog and the headstones were indiscernible. He almost expected Angela to emerge from the mist, with that lost, watery look in her eyes. But no ghosts appeared. Only her distant voice, calling him every now and then to make sure he was following behind._

_“Yes?”_

_A while passed without a word, and then the fragrant pine trees and thick fog gave way to the road. He still couldn't see her from here. Had he lost her somewhere?_

_“What are you going to do now?” she wrapped her small fingers around the back of his hand. He turned to her and smiled sadly._

_“I...don't know, Laura.” He turned his attention back to the road again. “..What are you going to do?”_

_She squeezed his hand. “I dunno. I'll stay with you if that's ok. I don't want to go back to that smelly orphanage.” She looked at him. “You'll keep me, won't you?”_

_“Won't you?”_


	2. Eleanor Rigby

_I'll wait at BAR Neely's..._

_James sat on the bed in the trailer and opened up his map. Where would that be?_

_Indeed, there was a place called Neely's Bar on this map, wedged into a corner. It was several blocks away, and what scared him the most was that he would have to go back out with those things skulking the streets..._

_He took a deep breath and stood, spending a few more minutes of mental preparation in the trailer before he headed out. With only a wooden plank to defend himself. One could argue it was better than nothing, but after a few confrontations with those creatures, the wood had begun to splinter and break. He wondered how long it would last. He could use his fists, sure, but they were really fast when they were knocked down, and they were smart enough to anticipate kicks and punches. Before he could hit them, they would gargle and spit at him. He was lucky he managed not to breathe in the mist, but their breath burned right through skin.._

_His upturned hands embellished not only his splinters from gripping the wood so tightly, but the abrasions and open sores from coming in contact with the poisonous gas._

_They were scattered throughout the streets, but he could at least run past most of them until he reached a more secure area, and better yet, a more effective weapon._

_He needed to find Mary. How could he just stand here with his tail between his legs, when she could be at the mercy of those things? She was all alone.._

James snapped awake, only now beginning to recover from the tremor that had his hands in fits. He used to think only people in horror movies woke up from dreams like this, shaking ridiculously. How overcome by mortal terror could one person be before their heart gave out?

He felt his sweating forehead. He should really be on medication for these dreams, but with his past suicide attempts, he doubted they would give him any pills. He couldn't even drink anymore—he was being given routine drug and alcohol tests, courtesy of Victoria, so his only option was to stay awake longer.

He opened the little fridge near his TV. A small bottle of Starbucks Mocha was pushed to the back, and a half finished red Gatorade from a few days ago was beginning to freeze. Why had he put an empty half-gallon of ice tea back in the fridge?

He sighed.

He vaguely wondered if caffeine could contribute to nightmares, but he quickly abandoned the thought. He didn't have time to get lost in his meanderings. He'd be late for work.

Just then, his phone burst out “Hello Moto,” and the loud, enthusiastic ringtone began.

It was 4:30 in the morning! Who would be calling him at this hour? He quickly scrambled around and found it stuffed between the sofa cushions.

“H-Hello?”

“It's Vicky. Calm down.”

“What's the problem?”

“No problem. I want you to call off work, though.”

“Why? And why did you call me so early?”

“I know you wake up around 4 in the morning because of your insomnia. And besides, you're going to enjoy yourself. All you do is work and come home.”

“Not insomnia. Nightmares. And shouldn't _you_ be asleep?”

Victoria yawned. What was she doing awake anyway?

“I can't call off work, Vicky. I need all the money I can—”

“Oh, please. As if you spend any of your money! You barely have anything in your fridge, and your closet is practically empty.”

James grunted. He hated when Victoria brushed his excuses aside.

“We better not be going bowling,” he growled.

Victoria burst out laughing. “You're so funny sometimes. No, no..how about some ice cream?”

 

 

The sky was paint brushed a somber, ascending shade of purple and pink. He remembered the sky looking like that as he woke up that day, putting on his green jacket and brushing his hair. How he suppressed the memory of putting her body in the trunk, he still didn't know.

Victoria was hardly ever this nice, and it was only when she suspected something was wrong. Of course, she should have known by now that everything was wrong in James' life, and it was just the way things were.

He wasn't much of an ice cream person, but just to please her, he got himself a cone of butter pecan. It used to be Mary's favorite flavor. He told her it was a bit too buttery for his taste, but now that she was dead, he chose this flavor almost involuntarily. It tasted better to him now, strangely.

“I wanted to ask you something.”

“Hm?”

“Are you okay talking about your wife now?”

James focused on his ice cream. “I don't talk to anyone about Mary.”

“Is it because you're still uncomfortable with her?”

“No, it's just...few people really even know I was ever married in the first place. It's better that way.”

“Why?”

James licked around the rim to keep it from dripping, holding the cone to his lips as a contemplative gesture. “Well, because, if they find out I was married, they'll want to know why I'm not married anymore.”

“You could just say you're divorced.”

“But that's not fair to her, Vicky,” James was grave, “It's like telling them a bad joke. If I can't tell people the truth, then I don't want to talk about her at all. Okay?”

They both elapsed into silence for a while.

“Alright.” she stirred her ice cream thoughtfully. “If you don't want to talk about her, that's ok. But it's been 10 years since then. Most people would have moved on.”

“I _have_ moved on. I served my time, I have a new job, I have a new place, and—”

“You're living a hollow existence in a dirty apartment complex filled with newly released criminals just like you, and you don't like your job or socialize with anyone, and you don't even talk to your father anymore—”

“Listen! If I hadn't moved on I would be a skeleton at the bottom of Toluca Lake with the body of my dead wife in the backseat! Alright?” James nearly shouted.

A woman turned around in mild disbelief, wondering if what she heard was right. Victoria pinched the bridge of her nose. She lifted her face to him in silent, pleading desperation. What more could she say to that?

“..Good God, James.”

 

 

In just another year, James would have to undergo another psychiatric evaluation. And if he failed, not only would he be taken from his apartment, he would lose his job and his car and be transferred to a mental hospital for as long as two years for intensive treatment. The electroshock therapy never worked, and only made him piss himself and forget more about his childhood, his parents and his school, and even his life with Mary—the good times and the bad.

_Please, please,_ James shook his head, _No more rehabilitation._

This morning with Victoria wasn't exactly a good start. He apologized for it, but that didn't take away the fact that he said it. It only went to show him he still wasn't ready to move on, even after all these years. Victoria could have worded it differently, but she was still right. Ten years is a long time—surely some of the pain must have gone by now?

Would he ever really get over it at all? Or would it keep him chained forever?

It depressed him that what should have been a fun day had to end like this. He could have had a good time. She was reaching out to him! She wanted to help..

James retreated into a corner of the station and bit back his quivering lip. Not now. Not now—why did people have to be around whenever he was hit with a wave of emotion? It needed closure. He flipped open his phone and dialed her.

…

It was nearly on its fifth ring when she answered. Her voice was quiet and restrained. “James—”

“I'm sorry,” his voice quietly broke. “I didn't mean it.. I just..”

“James,” he could sense a sad smile in her tone, “It's alright. I shouldn't have brought it up in the first place. Especially when we were eating ice cream. Ice cream is supposed to be a force of good.”

James made a short laugh. “Yeah.” He blinked hard and tried to reset his blurry vision.

“Don't worry about it anymore, ok? I'll come by again in a few days.”

“Ok..”

The static began to grow. “Hey, I'm driving. I'm going to lose the signal soon. I'll see you later. Don't worry about it anymore.”

“Okay. Bye.”

“Bye.”

James closed his phone and breathed. He was suddenly afraid to see her in the coming days. He could always count on himself to say more stupid things to overcompensate for being a jerk.

No longer caring if anyone could tell he was recovering from certain emotions, he turned around and walked up the platform, waiting for the next car to come by. Just to give himself something to do, he started playing Extreme Tetris on his phone.

Soft footsteps approached from the opposite direction. “Hey..” a gentle voice called.

James looked up, and in that moment, he wanted it to be her.

It was just a young girl with shoulder-length brown hair, donning a rather conservative private school uniform. “Are you ok?”

He nodded. He hadn't meant to appear so disappointed, but the girl got the message and moved away.

James took a seat and put his phone in his pocket. He searched around for anyone who resembled the potentially imaginary Laura, but so far he wasn't having much luck. There was a girl across from him talking very loudly on her phone, but her blond hair had black streaks and was crunched up into waves with styling gel. Besides that, she was heavy set and dressed in tight-fitting jeans and a red v-neck t-shirt that did little to conceal her several rolls of fat. She wasn't really ugly, but she did need to lose a few pounds.

And that's about as close as he got to Laura's evasive apparition.

The same pregnant woman from yesterday entered the car before it took off and grabbed a handle. James stood and tapped her shoulder. “You can have my seat.”

She smiled appreciatively, “Oh, thank you! Which one?”

James turned around and was about to point, but to his ire, someone had already taken his seat. He was about to tell him off but the woman patted him on the back. “It's ok. I'm fine, really.”

He grabbed a handle and sighed. “Well, looks like we're both standing.”

The woman laughed. “Yeah.”

The doors from the end of the car slid open, letting through a few more people. Those who caught the fullness quickly retreated to their seats on the previous car, and others, perceiving it too late to reclaim their seats, just grabbed a handle.

She shouldered her way through the crowd but she wasn't able to get too close to him. She wasn't sure that he would be able to see her. She looked at herself through the window and fixed her hair. As _he_ would remember it.

The car came to a stop. The crowd slowly began to disperse. James made sure the woman got out alright; in this crappy town, people didn't have a lot of respect for the elderly and the infirm either. He wondered why she just didn't have her boyfriend or husband run her around instead of taking public transportation. One of these days someone could nudge into her too hard and hurt her or the baby. He had seen people fall down while no one helped them up or picked up anything they had dropped. It was disgusting, but it was the reality of the poorer parts of Ashfield. She wasn't safe walking by herself at night. Maybe he should..

“Hey, do you mind if I walk you home?” James asked nervously.

The woman seemed taken aback, and opened her mouth to say something, but he quickly interrupted: “Please believe me, I won't do anything funny. I just want you to be safe. It's dangerous around here. I've been mugged once or twice on the streets myself.”

Again, she smiled warmly. “Actually, I don't live here in Ashfield. I only come here for work. I'm being picked up by a cab, so you don't have to look out for me.”

“Oh. Ok. Well...if you need any help with anything, I..”

“I get it.” She rubbed her belly. “Thanks. I'll keep that in mind. See you around.” She turned and left.

James left the encounter slightly flushed. It was the most he had ever talked to a stranger in years. He sincerely hoped he didn't appear creepy to her. He only wanted to help..

For a split second, he caught a glimpse of the jean skirt and flip-flops of a petite girl whose blond hair was tied back the same way as last time. She shuffled past the others at a rapid rate, seemingly in a hurry. Her hair blew in the breeze like an assortment of bright ribbons.

_Her!_

James knew this was his chance. If he didn't follow her, he could lose her forever.

It was the only way he would know if she was real.

“Hey!” he quickly caught up to her and stopped her in her tracks. The startled girl jumped and whirled around.

“What!”

James blushed. “I-I'm sorry... I didn't mean to.. I..”

Now he suddenly didn't know why he had done something so rash, especially in light of her beautiful, bewildered face. What if she hadn't looked at him yesterday, but some handsome teenager behind him?

He'd made a terrible mistake. He should go.

“I-I'm sorry. I mistook you for someone.”

Just as he turned to leave, she cried, “Wait! I saw you yesterday, but I wasn't sure if it really _was_ you..”

His breath caught and his heart skipped a beat.

“James..? James Sunderland, right?”

“..Yes.” he exhaled. “Laura?”

“I was afraid you wouldn't remember me. We haven't seen each other in so long.”

“Is that why you ran away?”

For a moment, Laura didn't know what to say. She interlaced her fingers, “Well, I wasn't sure if you were the right person. I was thinking.. I could have come by and saw you again tomorrow, get a better look at your face..to make sure.”

She smiled and wrapped her hands around herself, looking down. “So, um.. are you still mad at me for stepping on your hand?”

James palmed the back of his head, overcome with shame. Of course he forgave her, but more importantly—had she forgiven _him_? How should he even ask such a question?

“I'm not the same bratty little girl you met in Silent Hill, I promise. I've changed a lot since then. People actually say I'm too quiet now.”

“Heh.. Yeah, same for me.”

James followed Laura to a bench. They both sat down and resumed their conversation.

“So how are you?” he asked.

She crossed her legs and pulled down her skirt a bit. He hadn't realized until now how leggy she was. Though he suspected she was a legal adult, she still appeared as if she were 16 or 17 because of her demure, feminine frame. She had the height of a full grown woman, but she only came up to his collar bone. Her breasts were small and humble, though from the looks of it she tried to make herself appear a tad bustier with her low cut, striped shirt. The way she layered her hair over her chest, now that she was in the presence of another male, made him consider that she may have been teased for her small breast size. Or maybe she just didn't trust him to restrain himself.

He hated it when women grew tense around him. The last thing he wanted to do was scare someone away. Despite this, he tended to do that a lot.

“Good. I'm going to school right now, and I'm living with my best friend.”

“That's great. So do you go to Springfield Community College?”

“Ashfield University.”

“Good, good..” James tried to suppress the strange elation he felt building up within him. Having someone from his past who wasn't here to reprimand him or drudge up old memories, who was just normal and happy, approaching him for the first time..it filled him with a happy anxiety he hadn't felt before. “What are you taking?”

“Psychology.”

James felt a pang of embarrassment. He wondered just who inspired that major.

So the small talk went on, both of them actively dodging anything having to do with Silent Hill, his arrest, or Mary. In fact, they appeared as two strangers who had nothing in common, but were mutually interested in the other's life. James didn't have much to say about his life that was looking up, or getting better, and Laura didn't have much to say about her life getting any worse—rather, she must have been spoiled by her foster family, if she had one.

After a while they stopped talking. At this point, James could have went home, and Laura could have gone her own way, as she almost always did, but something kept them both there. Wordless, they stared at the people whizzing by like busy flies, the colors of their clothes meshing together in a messy rainbow. The car came and went, people went in and out. That was the story of James' life after Mary—just watching life go by. Wondering what other people did, what they loved, what they hated, what they had to live for these days. If life was just an endless cycle of people who had it good, those who were in the middle, and those like James: on the brink of nothingness and not particularly caring.

“So..what are you going to do?” Laura asked quietly. He almost hadn't heard her. It sounded like the child's voice from his dream, a ghost behind him staring at the road, pensively squeezing the palm of his hand. The child seemed to want to say, _Take me anywhere._

And to this day, he didn't know where he was, or where to go, for that matter. So he only had the same thing to say to her, even after all these years.

“..I don't know.”

“We'll both see where we want to go, then.”

They stood and walked up the stairs and out into the street. The town was lit up like Christmas. Thousands of orange, lazy lights blinked overhead. Laura was content to just let the breeze blow through her hair and clothes.

“Where do you want to go?” she asked again.

“Anywhere.”

For now, they had to ignore the urge to ask everything they really wanted to know. Someday, they would have to talk about those things. It wouldn't be pretty, James knew. Laura must still resent him. But what exactly did this mean, now that they were together?

Had he been forgiven?


	3. 4 In The Morning

James sat across from Laura in a small Szechuan restaurant. The red leather cushion of his seat was pocketed with holes and the absence of a knob on one of legs made the chair rickety. The walls were mottled and peeling, and they hadn't been painted over in years. Intricate, cut-out dragons decked the walls, but even those were falling off at some places. Bulbous, tasseled lanterns blew around on the ceiling whenever the door opened. Most of them just came in to pick up their food and ate outside, but force of habit had James eating in like the misanthrope he was.

“You alright, James?” Laura asked in mid-chew, her cheeks puffed up with noodles.

“I'm fine,” he smiled. “Just thinking.”

She turned her attention back to her food. Laura was semi-skilled with chopsticks, as she grabbed most of the food she attempted. James was too much of a westerner to ever learn to do that—forks and spoons were sufficient for him.

His eye caught the pink cat in the doorway, ushering in potential customers with its Cheshire smile and endlessly waving paw. It made him think of the window in Lakeview Hotel, the cute but poorly drawn kitten smiling back at him after Laura left in a hurry to find Mary's missing letter. He had found evidence of Laura's presence all around Silent Hill before that point; kittens and teddy bears stared at him from the ruined walls of Brookhaven Hospital and the Blue Creek Apartments. Her adorable vandalism strangely led him in the right directions oftentimes and unknown to her, ended up saving his life once or twice.

“Hey, Laura… Do you still draw?”

“Uhm…” She tilted her head, “Draw? Like when I was little?” She laughed. “No. I can't believe you still remember that.”

“It's funny what your mind chooses to remember sometimes.” he cupped his chin and continued looking outside.

“You look like you stay up late. You have circles under your eyes.”

“Huh? Oh, yeah.. I don't sleep much, really.”

Laura wanted to ask if he had nightmares, but thought that would be too probing, especially during their first encounter. “Oh. That sucks.”

“In a major way,” he laughed. “You don't stay up late, do you?”

“I know I shouldn't because I have classes, but I do anyway. I can't help it.”

“How late?”

“Sometimes to 2 in the morning on school nights. In the summer, I stay up later, usually all night.”

“Hmm.. I usually wake up around 4. I have to be at work by 6 anyway, so it's not like it matters.”

James boxed the remainder of his meal while Laura bought one last coke, and then they both headed out. James snuck another look at her. Seeing her face was like remembering something completely forgotten, like the memories of being a baby. It was such an out-of-place feeling. To this day, he wondered what exactly made people happy around old acquaintances, no matter what their past relationship was.

This wasn't the first time this happened.

A few weeks ago, James was perusing through Walmart, throwing the worst kind of junk food into the cart for wont of real nutrition, and a woman passed him and called, “James!”

The woman's name was Chloe Abernathy, his sworn enemy in the 7th grade. She relentlessly ridiculed him for being one of the chubbier kids, and even managed to make others join in the taunting. She was the beautiful, spoiled, popular girl in school who had all the cool and interesting friends. And he? Well, he was one of the undesirables—shy, wore clothes from the last decade, totally hopeless around any girl that wasn't his Mom—the works.

She might as well have said, _“Hey, James, how are you? You remember me from 7 th grade, right? Remember how I used to call you names like 'fat cow' and 'beached whale' so much it made you hate yourself? Ahh.. Good times.”_

That woman actually had the nerve to say he was handsome now, and she guessed that good-looking guys must go through a weird phase growing up.

And exactly what kind of phase was she referring to? The “frump” phase?

The memory almost had him roll his eyes.

Laura lived on a corner of the street in what looked like yet another crappy apartment complex. But because of this, it was cheaper and closer to the school in order to attract students. She was probably living in a one bedroom with not only her best friend, but her best friend's boyfriend, and anyone else who got unreasonably drunk and decided to crash there for the night. James thought it might be a little off-putting to ask her if she had a boyfriend herself, but he speculated that if she did, she probably wouldn't have spent all this time with a guy like him.

She stood on the top step. “Hey.. Lemme give you my number. You have a cell phone?”

“Oh, yeah,” James took out his phone, “Go ahead.”

Laura told him her number and vice versa. “What do you have?”

“AT&T.”

“Do you have unlimited everything?”

“I..I never checked. I just got a standard plan.”

“Well, do you want to meet again tomorrow? If you're busy I can just call you later. Or you could call me.”

“I get out of work at 2 in the afternoon, so I should be available for the rest of the day. It's kinda sad how much time I have on my hands.”

“Oh, don't feel bad. I'm the same way. If I don't have homework, I'm at home watching TV or eating junk food.”

“So you don't work?”

“Only like two days a week. We're slowing down right now.”

James nodded. “Well, it was good catching up and all..” and began to descend the steps.

“..Does it matter to you if I don't want to go home right now?” Laura fiddled with her fingers. “I mean, I don't want to go home and be bored.”

He smiled. “Don't you have school tomorrow?”

“My classes don't start until 12. I'll be fine.”

“All of the places are staring to close now..”

She ground one of her pink sandals into the pavement pensively, “Then, why don't we go to your place?” she smirked.

 

 

“So they have a place where people who were just released are supposed to live?” Laura dragged her polished fingers on the counter top of the kitchenette. It only composed of five cabinets above her head, a small microwave, and an island in the middle that reminded her more of a cutting board than a kitchen table. There wasn't even any room for chairs.

“Yeah, I guess. This complex is near the outskirts, and is kind of out of the way, so we won't be able to bother “normal” people. This neighborhood is filled with old geezers, and we're far away from the schools and playgrounds and stuff..”

James did some last-minute tidying up, snatching his blanket and pillow off the couch and throwing them in his unused bedroom. He quickly chucked every can of Red Bull, bottle of Gatorade and Diet Coke he could find on the living room table and threw them into the trash can. He pushed in the cushions and dusted the furniture off the best he could. Thankfully, Laura wasn't paying attention, and was instead horrified at the total lack of food in the cabinets and silverware in the shelves.

“You've been living in here for a year now and you haven't gotten any food in the cabinets?”

“Uhh.. Well you know I just eat out a lot. I know that's not too healthy but I can't cook to save my life.”

“Yeah, I could tell from the pizza boxes scattered everywhere,” she laughed, “You need a woman's touch so badly in here.”

“Yeah. It isn't much, is it?”

Laura sat on the couch. “So how long are you supposed to live here?”

“Another year. If I pass my evaluation.”

“Evaluation?”

“They have to test me to see if I'm improving.”

“So will you be sent back to jail if you fail?” Laura frowned.

“No, they'll..” James was growing uncomfortable, “They'll want to put me in a hospital. They basically decided that I can be around people and live on my own, but they just want to make sure once and for all that I'm okay up here.” He pointed to his head.

“But I think you were under...special circumstances. Your case was special, I mean.”

James laughed. “They think I'm special, all right.”

Laura cupped her mouth and laughed too. “I didn't mean that!”

Was it alright to laugh at this now? Were they mocking Mary's memory or were they both acknowledging that James was just a little...absent-minded?

“Do you hang out with people?”

He sat back. “No one except my probation officer. As weird as that sounds.”

“What's his name?”

“She's a woman. Her name's Victoria, and she's always checking up on me.”

“I thought they only gave guys male probation officers.”

“Not always. If they think you're going to be a problem, they'll probably give you a guy. And besides, I could never get over on Victoria if I tried. She's...very trained.”

“Ha ha ha!”

Much to James' bewilderment, he managed to keep this girl entertained for hours. She thought James was so funny and interesting. This phenomenon hadn't occurred in years; in fact, the last woman who was this interested in him was Mary herself, back when they met at that party in '86. He had told her a forest joke involving a rabbit and a bear and she laughed so hard she nearly spilled her drink. It was a silly way to start a friendship, they both knew, but they were inseparable since. By midnight, they were already making out at the back of the house. Mary kept laughing and interrupting; she kept bringing up the joke. Looking back on it, it was pretty funny—Mary could be so adorable when she was drunk.

James furrowed his brows. Why did he feel he was talking to Mary again?

“Whew!” she cried. “It's so late!”

Her cell phone read _11:17_ pm.

“Time flies when you're having fun, I guess,” he remarked shyly.

“Yeah. I didn't expect you to be this funny, James. But I guess it would make sense that I would think that—the last time I met you, you weren't happy.” she frowned.

“Mm,” James took a swig of ice-tea, desperately hoping she wouldn't further this.

“So, um, it's pretty late out.. I guess it's time for me to go.” she stood, dusting off her jean skirt and straightening out her hair.

“I'll drive you.” James led her to the door, but as he opened it, she turned around very suddenly and held it open.

“Wait..” she said, almost breathlessly.

It left him stunned. Was it him, or did she seriously not want to leave?

“My friend is probably sleeping, and I don't have my key, so.. I don't think she would hear me.”

James didn't show it, but he strongly suspected she was lying. Why would she walk around without her key, especially when her friend wouldn't be there all the time to answer the door? They were both college students and they were both working. Their schedules wouldn't permit them to simply forget their keys.

So what now?

“Um..” James started.

“Do you mind if I spend the night here?”

James withdrew from the door and turned away, examining the state of his home. He didn't like where this was going. No one had stayed over before, and he was beginning to question Laura's intentions. She was, after all, a teenage girl, and girls had all sorts of schemes up their sleeves.

Laura laughed. “You don't really think I'll try anything, do you? I barely know you, and besides, you're too old for me!”

James quickly straightened. “Of course not!” he tried to make it seem he found the whole idea very silly, “It's just it's very sudden. We've only hung out for a few hours, and now you're sleeping over.”

Laura edged her way in with a big smile. “So it's okay?”

_“So it's okay?” she asked._

_James walked off. “Yeah, it's fine,” he gruffly confirmed._

_He pulled out his map once more and sat down on the bench, deciding to sift through all the papers he collected before they headed off. The size of this town, coupled with the dense fog and the hidden monsters, made this town that much more of a threat._

_Looked like their next stop was the Historical Society. He just hoped there weren't too many of them on Nathan Avenue; they were both exceptionally vulnerable now considering that Maria didn't have a weapon. Apparently, she had a revolver earlier, but threw it away somewhere. What the hell would make her wanna do that?_

_Suddenly, Angela's voice rang in his mind: “If I kept it, I don't know what I might do..”_

_James pulled up his pants leg and took the knife from his boot. He held it up to her. “Maria.. I think you should have this. You'll have to be within close range to attack the monsters, but hell, it's better than nothing. That way, you'll be able to defend yourself if we get separated somehow, okay?”_

_“Oh..” she grabbed the knife and examined it, “Eww. I can see it's been used.”_

_“Not by me,” he murmured, as he carefully folded his maps and memos and tucked them back inside his pockets. He stood, finding his eyes traveling all over her. She looked like Mary's missing twin, yet she was so much more beautiful, so much more..desirable. She repulsed him at first with her shameless sexual advances, but disgustingly enough, they were beginning to light a fire in him. How could he still be such a pig in the worst of times? To think that even in a place like this, he could catch himself wanting another woman.._

_Of course, he wanted all sorts of women after Mary got sick, but he never acted on any of those urges. He couldn't live with himself if he had spent even a minute in another woman's bed while Mary was slowly dying in her own._

_“Maria.. Let's go.”_

Shrouded in his own covers, shaking, James tried to regain his composure. The apartment was completely dark, and the fan in front of him whirred calmly. Not surprisingly, he was sweating again, and his hands were trembling on occasion. He had relived this experience so many times in his dreams that by now he should be numb. So why wasn't he? Why did these dreams continue to torment him?

He learned what he had to; he saw what he needed to see. Why couldn't he just let it go!

The light of the refrigerator made him squint his eyes. He searched around for the ice-tea he had earlier, and gulped it all down. He could watch some TV for an hour or two, and try to go back to sleep. He could only hope he wouldn't have to fight anything in his next, inevitable dream.

He slowly walked down the hall to his bedroom door. Laura lay peacefully in his bed, turned away from him. Luckily, he had another fan on in the room to muffle the sounds of his footsteps.

There, in the doorway, he stared at her back, wondering just why he was doing this. Why he was suddenly wishing for something he could never have again.

He wished he was in that bed with his wife, holding her again. He wished that she wasn't sick or angry with him—he just wanted to hold her and have her be okay. But this warmth..he would never have that ever again. Nor did he deserve it.

He was the one who took it right away from himself. He was a victim of _himself_. It was _his_ fault.

_“James..”_

She never deserved that. And neither did Laura. She shouldn't be here..

James palmed his face. He kept hearing Mary calling his name repeatedly, to hold her in the abyss of his mind. She wanted him with her, in the same dark place she was. She was all alone.

He slowly turned away, unsure just what he would end up doing if he stayed there. He didn't trust himself. Painfully numb, he crawled back onto the couch and threw the covers over his face. He checked his cell phone.

_4:00 am._

Another day had already snuck up on him again.

 

 

Laura eased her eyes open and looked around groggily. James had all the blinds shut in the house, including the ones in his bedroom, and for an hour or two it had her believing it was still nighttime. But now she really couldn't argue with her biological clock, as it kept saying that the sun should have been up a long time ago. She sat up and scratched her back lazily, wondering if James was awake too. She was kind of disappointed that she couldn't spend much time with James before classes. As it was, she still had homework to do that she totally neglected _because_ of him.

She didn't remember the door being open. And why was her entire body covered in a blanket? It was too hot last night for blankets..

She shrugged it off and her feet plopped on the floor. The blinds opened to let in calm, bright orange rays of sun. She was thinking she should open up all the blinds, but the presence of too much light might end up annoying James. And he just might be one of those paranoid types who thought that people were watching them when they had the blinds up.

Laura walked down the hallway cautiously. The fan was still running the pillow was still on the couch. Alas, when she went into the living room, the couch was unoccupied. Moments later, her phone vibrated.

_Sent Thurs. @ 9:21 am. Frm : James S. (mobile)_

_Had to go to work din want 2 wake u up. Srry. Please lock door b4 yu go to school_

Laura smiled.

She briefly wondered if she could sleep over again. Or perhaps...that was too much to hope for. The fact that he didn't wake her up and say goodbye before he left..

She doubted the excuse would work again tonight.


	4. Tender Sugar

James lit a cigarette to quell his nervousness. He would have to face Victoria today.

Not only that, but he would also have to tell Laura that she couldn't come around anymore.

Really, she was kind and made him laugh. Things like the lilt in her voice, her skinny, fragile limbs, the pink lip gloss that she wore, and her tousled blond hair had already grown on him. But he couldn't have this go on any longer than it already had.

Especially after last night. It was as if he was temporarily out of his mind. He felt like he was walking into that room to kill her like he killed Mary. He never wanted to relive that feeling ever again.

And, God, he never wanted to end up hurting Laura. He just...couldn't trust it.

James rested against the wall, throwing his head back and blowing out the smoke. He tapped the cigarette and the ashes wafted somberly to the ground. The pack of Marlboro Reds he had in his pocket, bought in the rush of the moment in a corner store just this morning, did little to put him at ease. He felt the needle-like pricks of a headache coming on.

Sooner or later it would have ended, anyway. She didn't want him for a friend. Not him or his baggage. It was best if she didn't have to deal with it. He could barely deal with it himself, so how could he thrust it upon another person?

Laura should be out hanging with her best friends, out there in the real world, having fun and just being happy. He had to stop her before she made a big mistake.

He brought the cigarette to his face, twirling it around in his pondering fingers, until, seconds later, he crushed it and smothered the burn he felt in his palm. He opened his hand. It reminded him of a butterfly's death at the hands of a child. His palm was sooty and a circular increment of skin was red and throbbing painfully now that it was exposed to the air.

There was some evidence to surmise that Laura had touched up the place. The space was a little cleaner, and the tables and floor weren't littered with plastic bottles and cans and empty bags of chips. No pizza boxes shoved into the corner of the kitchenette. More light in the house on account of the curtains being pulled back.

Laura must have felt the need to clean up for him before she left. How embarrassing. A girl he hadn't seen in more than a decade, spending the night and then cleaning up his apartment in the morning before she went off to classes.

He still remembered her sly smile, her arms akimbo. _“You need a woman's touch so badly in here..”_

Maybe he did. But he wasn't about to let Laura do it anymore.

And then the dreaded knock came.

James abruptly dusted off his hand and whisked it from side to side, as if that would get it to stop stinging. He made his way to the door and hid the offending hand behind his back.

Victoria smiled. All of the strain had gone from her face. She had done her hair for him, apparently. Her normally short, wavy black hair was now curled at the ends and she went into lighter, peach tones for her make-up. To top that off she wore a sleeveless, black, v-neck shirt that tied at the back and a pair of blue skinny jeans. She even had on black high heels.

James hoped he was looking at her with a normal expression. Victoria always looked beautiful, but this must be her alluring way of making an apology.

“You look very nice.” James said quietly.

“Thanks. You look like you just came home from work. Don't you want to change out of that?”

He shrugged. “Um.. Doesn't matter.”

“Why are you being so quiet?” she paused. “Look, I told you not to worry about it.”

“It's..not that.” Well, part of it was that, but also.. “I'm just a little tired.”

“Another nightmare?” Victoria took herself to the couch and leaned on the armrest, placing her hands casually on her lap.

“No. I didn't tell you.. I met someone I hadn't seen in a very long time.”

Victoria's brow rose. “And?”

“Her name is Laura. We met in Silent Hill. I just don't... I don't think she should come around anymore.”

Victoria's expression grew serious. She stood and put her hand to James' cheek. “Why? Was she a friend of Mary's? Is that it?”

“...Yes. But that's not the problem. At least, I don't think so..”

“Okay..” she rubbed his temple with her thumb. James normally would have pulled away from her and insisted that he didn't need any help. He might even have yelled at her to leave. But now, he was too weak to swat her hand away.

“It's just.. I don't think I can be around another woman like that. I don't trust myself anymore.”

“James?” she stepped back. “What are you saying? That you think you might hurt her or something?”

“I don't want to burden her, Vicky. She's too young to be worrying about someone like me. I shouldn't even have talked to her. I should have just walked away.”

“This isn't good, James. You should be able to meet people from your past and talk to them without being bombarded by these feelings. This is what I tried to get across the other day. The fact that you don't talk to your father, that you're still uncomfortable with..”

He was already turning away from her touch, which told her that he was putting his wall up and was about to get surly and defensive.

“What I mean to say is, you don't need to feel this way anymore. Laura hasn't seen you in years, I'm sure, so this is practically a fresh start. Did you meet her just yesterday?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, that's a good thing, isn't it? The fact that she wants to be friends with you is good. This is a healthy way to acknowledge your past and finally begin to accept it. You need this.”

“No, _she_ doesn't need this. She doesn't need me.”

“You can't keep pushing people away like this. You'll only end up hurting yourself more. If you can't confront these things, it won't look good for your evaluation..”

“Screw the evaluation!” James burst. “This isn't about me, alright? This is about her! I don't want to cause her any more pain than I already have!”

Victoria was rigid. She had dealt with his outbursts many times before, and this definitely wasn't the worst of them. But what turned these conflicts into sheer stalemates was his persecution complex, his harsh guilt that had him hurt those around him time and time again. These were the words that James fed her when she confronted him about intentionally avoiding Frank. He broke down and told her that his father's face had said it all. Said that he couldn't possibly take away the pain from all he'd done. That he was irredeemable.

It was this attitude that had lost him so many friends over this past year, the reason he simply drifted from everyone he knew. It was a vicious cycle. Laura probably had done nothing to make him believe that he would end up hurting her, but in his mind, there existed a reality where he was some kind of negative force that contaminated things it made contact with.

She didn't want to believe it at first, but if he kept thinking this way, he would end up at the hospital whether they _both_ liked it or not.

And this was exactly what he didn't want to hear. Perhaps what he didn't _care_ to hear.

But she had to keep trying. So many others had simply given up on him, but the fact that she was his probation officer put his self-condemning habits at a disadvantage. He had to deal with her regardless. Victoria only hoped that, through their experiences together, both good and bad, he would somehow learn to be a real person again. To heal.

Still, the problem remained. Maybe James knew he didn't want Laura around anymore, but did Laura?

 

 

“Hey, do you have the homework from yesterday?” Katelyn asked.

“Oh, yeah, I do. I don't think it's all correct, though.”

“It doesn't matter. I just need a numbers 7 and 9.”

“Ok. So is Brian coming over again today?”

“Yeah. Where were you last night?”

She smiled warily. “Um.. That's an interesting story. I was at the station yesterday, and I didn't tell you this, but for the past couple of days I was looking for this person that I met years ago..”

“Oh no. You weren't stalking them were you?”

“No.” she giggled. “I just saw him by chance the one day, and I wasn't sure if it was him, so I never went up to him and said 'hi' until last night. It's just it's been ten years—”

“Yeah, but did you sleep with him?”

“Augh! That's gross, Katelyn. He's a full grown man!”

“Then what were you doing with him, then? How did you get to sleep over his house? It was just the way you were putting it—”

“I didn't put it any way! It was just like a friendly thing. It was too late to go back out.”

“But you had your key with you.”

“I know, but..!” she sighed. “I didn't wanna go home.” Laura playfully crossed her arms and looked away, amused that the situation sounded so dirty. “It's really not like that, trust me.”

“I know, I'm just playing with you.”

“Things were a little weird this morning, though. I just wish he would have woken me up before he left..”

They first met all those years ago, in a foggy, abandoned ghost town.

She wasn't too keen on Eddie. One could tell how aimless and simple-minded he was. She lost him quite a lot. And when they crossed paths he only went on about some guy and his dog, the football team, the players, their cruel jokes..

Occasionally, she saw an older girl walking around the town, appearing just as aimless as Eddie was, although significantly more scared and troubled by unknown things.

And then there was James. James, that dirty, clumsy, fumbling fool. He was like Eddie and the other girl, running around and searching for elusive answers. She thought he was so pitiful. Now he wanted to make up to Mary? After all he had done?

She originally wanted to find Mary and have them both go away together, leaving stupid James to scratch his head like a confused monkey while she finally got to have the kind, beautiful, perfect mother she had been declined since birth.

She already resented James from the beginning. Countless times, Mary told her, _“James is coming today. You'll finally get to meet him,”_ but he never came. It was from the broken, sadly reproached look on Mary's face that she began to hate him—the cold, absent, faceless husband.

But through their encounters, she came to realize that he wasn't the callous person she imagined him to be. He was probably in about as much anguish mentally that Mary had been in physically. It showed painfully in his solemn, detached demeanor, his stained clothes, his breathless determination.

Only when she got older did she realize that he had been worried sick about her and practically chased her all around town to protect her from getting hurt. Even after she stepped on his hand and locked him in that room for a transgression so small.. His fatherly concern and his forgiving nature ended up having quite an impression on her.

When she saw him in the hotel room, he was bleeding pretty badly from his shoulder and he was wounded somewhere on his right arm. He didn't seem to care about it at all. He had his head down, turned away from the static blaring from the TV.

Even after he told her what he had done to Mary, her hatred of him was only disguised hurt.

At that age, she didn't have a clear concept of the act of murder; it was just something that greedy, horrible people did to unsuspecting innocents.

Mary's last letter cleared the air, and was ultimately cathartic. It helped her come to terms with James' actions. Yes, he had his selfish reasons, but in doing so, he released her from her pain. She was free.

Now it was James who needed to be released from his own pain.

She just didn't know when it was going to happen—if it ever did.

 

 

“I haven't seen her in the news since,” James commented. “Cybil isn't an interesting topic anymore, I suppose.”

“Well, they probably just..”

“Committed her.” James finished, nodding bitterly.

“They did _not_.”

“How do you know?” he countered. “They probably put her there because she told them the _truth_.”

Victoria held her tongue. This was just the other side of James' coin. He was a person, and he had his moods. Hopefully, this would pass. Right now, she was trying to focus on not encouraging his notions. Likely, in a few days, he would stop his dark talk and be his usual quiet, sarcastic, and stand-offish self.

“You could look online and see if they have anything more on her.”

James only huffed.

Victoria drew another sip of her coffee, pensive.

“James. I want you to talk to Laura today. And I want you to tell her that you're gonna be busy for a while, but you'll see her again soon.”

“Did you listen to _anything_ I said before? I told you she's not coming around anymore.”

“You're feeling this way now, but in a few days, you won't be. And then you'll regret pushing her away. That's why I'm telling you to say that—because I know if you completely cut the cord, _you're_ the one who'll be hurting more in the long run.”

James opened his mouth, but Victoria only held a finger to his lips.

“Just please..trust me.”

 

 

Back at the subway platform, James sat down on the very bench they had talked on last night, and waited. Laura would be here soon after classes. He knew, like the rest of them, she couldn't take a hint and still wanted to hang out. He had to just tell her. Maybe it wouldn't make sense to her, but she'd forget him soon enough anyway.

Hopefully, he'd forget himself eventually and could, at some point, pass through this life like water, and never have to feel again.

The cars whizzed by like lizards, and people went about their business as per usual. No one paid mind to him.

Sometimes he felt as if he were just a hollow shell, a doll of a person, looking through the mirror and seeing nothing. The people he saw on the streets everyday had something that he suspected he hadn't been born with. He was never very normal anyway. He was always the quiet, awkward one—yet, so was Mary. She was also pristine and lovable, and absolutely his.

But never. Never again.

“James?” Laura nudged his arm. She hadn't sat down, and only just approached him. “Are..you ok?”

“Laura..” he trailed off. His heart began beating in his ears.

“Were you waiting here for me? How come you just didn't call?”

“I..” Now he was tongue tied. Great. Why had he come here anyway? He didn't have to listen to Victoria. He could have just never come here again.. Take the long way to work every day. Whatever it took to—

“James, you're scaring me.” Laura still had her hand on his shoulder. “You look kinda spaced-out.”

“I'm fine. Listen, Laura. I wanted to tell you this last night, but I didn't know how to put it..”

Laura waited for a moment, almost appearing tense, and then a flash of recognition graced her face. “Oh! Listen, I know, it was kind of out-of-nowhere to just suddenly ask to sleep over, but the truth is, I just had a lot of fun and didn't want to leave. It's like when my girlfriends—”

“That's what I was getting at,” he started. His breath hitched, his stomach was turning sour, and he began feeling sick with himself.

“I would prefer it if you...didn't talk to me anymore.”

She shrunk back, confused. “What? Why?” It almost came out as a whisper.

“I don't want to be reminded anymore, Laura.” His eyes trailed to the ground. “I can't have you in my house.”

“What are you talking about?” she cried. “I thought you liked me—I mean, we were laughing and carrying on last night and I just thought you—”

“Well I don't feel that way anymore, alright?” James stood, masking his agony behind angry eyes. “You just want to pretend to be friends with me so you can go back to your real friends and laugh with them about how neurotic I am. This is all just a joke to you.”

Lies, all of it, but he needed her to leave forever. This was the way it had to be.

“What are you saying!” Laura trembled, her small, blue eyes red-rimmed and just beginning to tear. “I can't.. I don't understand, James..” she sobbed.

James let out an involuntary gasp, about to break himself, and walked away as fast as he could to deter him from looking back or trying to repair what he had done.

“James! Where are you going?”

No answer. He just increased his pace.

“James, _please_!”

James..

Laura knew it was futile to call after him anymore. He resolutely ignored her, the distance between them growing greater and greater with every passing second. Mute, she threw one of her shaking arms around her waist and wiped at her tears with the other. The sobs kept coming, kept wracking her like a cage. What had she done wrong! Why did he have to leave!

She didn't understand..

Gradually, his black leather jacket receded from her vision, and he disappeared completely into the crowd like a ghost. She sat on the bench for long, painful minutes, staring at that crowd in disbelief, desperately trying to wish him back, to push it into his head that she needed him to come back. They couldn't leave each other like this. They just couldn't.

But he never reemerged.

Through her confusion, her helpless frustration, she couldn't believe what had just elapsed. Moreover, what had just been destroyed for not the first, but the second time. Years ago at that road, and now again in this damaged, overwrought platform, he showed her promise and then took it back with no hope of recovery.

Her blue eyes blurred, her hands thoughtlessly squeezed, her temples throbbing, she tried to assess the situation calmly, but to no avail. Her stomach wouldn't ease, her throat wouldn't unclench and let her breathe normally, and her sudden, terrible embarrassment just wouldn't let go.

The subway car stopped again at the same spot it did everyday, sliding the doors open and letting the careless throng through. 

No one paid her any mind.

She couldn't think of one single place to go.


	5. Afraid

The next morning, he had that all too familiar feeling in his gut. He felt the endless need to throw up, but there was nothing to purge. Throughout all his insane thinking, he feared that he would have to suffer the memory of it for as long as he lived.

In the long run... Did it even make sense?

_“So what did you tell her, James?”_

_His fringe obscured his eyes. “I told her I didn't want to see her anymore.”_

_Suddenly, he felt the powerful force of her hand across his face. “Dammit, James!”_

He was in his actual bedroom, a place that had not been crossed until only two days ago. Laura was once sound asleep here, her beautiful frame shrouded in darkness and her slow, soundless breathing tantalizing James' tortured imagination.

Mary had looked just like that after she had died. Her eyes were closed peacefully, now settled on death like a lily pad floating on the water. There was even a despairing and beautiful mysticism about it; she had passed on into wherever people went at the moment of death, leaving their unfit shell behind. Maybe she finally found out just exactly what this life is—if it's really the end, or just one stage of being in a convoluted cycle.

Beds now carried a painfully heavy connotation. In truth, he didn't even like the word. He supposed it might not make sense to someone that he had a psychological aversion to beds, even if they knew how he killed Mary. But anything close to the memory, which even now could turn him from a calm demeanor to a bereaved, uncontrollably sobbing sap, was enough to make him do strange things..

He would never turn on the light in this room. The door was always locked up, like the memory, and layers upon layers of dust from a year before were still there. Laura didn't say anything about it, perhaps knowing that he wouldn't be able to explain it in any way that would make sense, and furthermore, it would end up upsetting him.

Did she really pity this old man, a sorry hermit who shut himself up in this hole and forced himself to care about nothing?

Maybe she was just chasing after a dream that had died long ago, and one day, she would finally realize his worth and clear him from her mind. She would bury him in the ground like a time capsule and never revisit any memory of him ever again, leaving him in the darkness, where he most clearly belonged.

 

 

Idle chatter resounded from every isle. It was Walmart, so of course everyone and their mother were here, but it must have been quite a special day, because he managed to catch the back of a man who was built similar to him, whose gray hairs were slicked back like James always had his. He was walking in a unguided direction, taking his time, picking up this, looking at that.

James knew he should take the opportunity and disappear.

He redirected his cart the way he came, only to find that three others were slowly converging on his location to get in the isle. James muttered, “Good God,” and turned around with a compliant look on his face. As a quiet, out-of-the-way person, he was very careful to watch his physical expressions in public, lest he draw attention to himself with just a roll of the eyes or an exasperated sigh of displeasure.

He was swiftly passing down the isle and was nearly on the home stretch when the man, disturbed from his musings by the sound of the approaching cart, gasped and gestured him to stop by waving his hands out in front of him.

“James?”

He turned around, hoping that he could fool him into believing that he hadn't seen him. “Dad..?”

“James. I can't believe it's you. I haven't seen you in so long..” Frank approached him a little unsteadily, reaching his hands out in front of him, almost like a zombie. He was like James (or James was like him) in that, when they finally caught sight of something they had been yearning for, and it was finally within reach, they slowly closed in on it, like the first taste of an unfamiliar food. They wanted to know if it was real or not.

James, more than his father probably knew, chased mirages more than was healthy.

“Yeah, I'm here, Dad.” From force of habit, he looked away. Why was it that he could never really look someone in the face? Would he always be this perpetually ashamed?

Frank's rough, veined hand settled on his shoulder. “Son. God. I haven't seen you in so long.”

“I know. It's been a while..”

“It's been more than a year and a half!” he suddenly burst. “Why don't you ever call me, James? Are you mad at me or something? If you are, just tell me.”

“No, no, Dad.” He suddenly had a horrible crick in his neck. Frank's eyes were on him like a gold trophy, and he didn't know what to say. “I think.. I mean, I..”

“Spit it out.” Frank laughed, just glad to hear his voice.

“Uh.. I just.. We just kinda lost touch.”

Frank went sly-eyed. “No, more like, you didn't feel like talking to me anymore. Aunt Hild said you don't talk to anyone in the family anymore, and you used to be really close to your Aunt Hild.”

“Oh, uh..” Vague memories of their closeness flashed in his mind. They were such under-visited, Charlie-Chaplin images, and by now so faded and useless he couldn't remember exactly why he even liked her so much. “So how is Aunt Hilda?”

“Dead.” Frank candidly remarked. He was never really one to beat around the bush. “But otherwise good.”

 James fought a smile and a laugh, despite the joke.

“When?”

“Oh, about a few months ago. She asked about you a few days before she kicked it. She actually thought you went back to jail or something.”

“Hah,” James half-smiled, “No.”

_I think 9 years is enough_ , is what he really wanted to say.

James knew he was capable of avoiding more social interactions, friendly gatherings, parties and get-togethers than most people, while paving a new record for antisocial behavior by way of acting like he wouldn't see or hear a person who had called out his name or waved to him, but this was different. Perhaps it was because Frank had been a parent, and therefore, was used to being ignored. Or maybe it was just that he was trying to get away from the wrong person. They were alike in quite a lot of ways, and quite possibly, his father knew the game James was playing. Whatever the reason, Frank wouldn't be shrugged off.

James casually said that he would meet him in the electronics section after he got his milk and eggs, but Frank just said that he needed the same things and would follow him there. After following him all around the store, creating a plethora of small talk to keep them entertained along the way, he asked a hated question.

“What are you doing after this?”

James wanted, more than anything, to somehow squirm past this inquiry. But he was stuck with it, and Frank was waiting for an answer. As usual, James uttered the most overused sentence in the English language without thinking.

“I don't know.”

Frank paused. “Well, I'd really like it if you swung by the apartments for a little bit. Not long. Just for a little chat. I think I might have some things for you, too.”

James wasn't interested in finding out what these things were—knowing Frank, it was probably some useless trinket that he wanted to get rid of or some kind of passed-down heirloom from an obscure ancestor.

“You still live in that complex, right? You're only a few blocks away from here. That's good when you need to go shopping, ain't it?”

“Yeah..”

“Well, I'm not too far out of the way either, so you can just get in the car with me and I'll take you back..” Frank trailed off as he absently observed a row of dish detergent, then added, “When you're ready.”

Before James even really knew what he walked into, they were in the parking lot, searching for Frank's now forgotten parking spot. James suspected, as did many, many others before him, that more than 90 percent of people who walked in a store forgot where they parked their car by the time they walked out. Mary even pointed that out once—playfully scolding him for forgetting their spot when it was his turn to remember.

_“You always were_ so _forgetful..”_

It was alien, being back inside of this car again. The old felt seats were hard now, having been sat on for more than 30 years. This car, a blue 1965 Plymouth Barracuda, was Frank's pride and joy, and he never even let anyone touch the steering wheel. Both the car and James also shared the same birth year, adding to his father's sentimentality.

All the while the sour anxiety from this morning had not gone away, and only intensified as they drove on, because if this meant anything, it meant that they had to discuss _something_.

James turned to his father in fearful anticipation, studying his features, the movements of his eyes, the grip of his hands on the steering wheel. How did he feel right now?

Just as he was about to force the painful question from his throat, they came to an easy stop at the front of South Ashfield Heights apartment complex. The depressing, bricked palace was somehow smaller than he remembered it.

Frank turned off the ignition and shoved the keys into his pocket. “James.. It's alright if you don't wanna come in, but.. Will you wait out here? I have to show you something.”

James paused, thinking it over. “I can come in,” he said carefully.

Frank had opened the car door and was going to step out, but at that statement, he made a double take. “Really? Are you really alright with it, James?”

“..Sure.”

They both made their way up the steps. Of course, Frank was a little slower, given his advanced age of 74. Strangely, only now was James starting to realize that his father was breaking down. He had a slow, cautious gait, and at one point, he needed James' hand to help him up the stairs because of a sudden cramp.

“Oh, would you look at me, son? I'm falling apart here.”

“Come on, don't say that, Dad. You're more active than I am.” He smiled, but Frank didn't appear to be all that pleased to hear that.

After fumbling with a fat ring of keys, Frank opened the door to his own room and James stepped in.

It was pretty much what the apartment of an old man ought to look like, except he actually had a X-Box set up under his long outdated VCR player, probably a gift from one of their crazier relatives like Aunt Verna, who always got anyone an expensive, age-inappropriate gift. James laughed.

“What's that under there? You play video games, Dad?”

Frank took a moment to analyze the question, and his eyes slowly trailed to the neglected toy under his TV. “What? Oh, that? Goodness, I don't know what the hell that thing is. I guess you play games on it, only I don't know how the damn thing works. I think I should just give it to my neighbor Eileen. She's pregnant.”

At the expense of slighting the intelligence of his father, whom he hadn't said a proper word to in years, he stayed quiet. He supposed it at least deserved a chuckle.

It would be quite a while before the kid would be old enough to play it, but it wasn't all that pressing to point out.

Frank disappeared into his bedroom for a minute and came back with two envelopes, one a little yellower and more dog-eared at the edges than the other, and placed them both in James' petrified hand.

Mary..?

“Do you remember Rachel?”

Nothing in his memory stirred, and James shook his head.

“Mary's nurse. She wrote me after.. Well, a little after Mary came home with you, and she wanted to know how I was doing. We wrote back and forth for a while. I lost most of them, but I did manage to save these two.”

“Are they both from her?”

“No. One of them is from Mary.”

The frozen look on James' face, coupled with his tense stature, tipped Frank of his indiscretion.

“If you don't want to read—”

“No, it's fine. I'll read them when I get home, though. Is that ok?”

“Yes, yes.” Frank replied hurriedly. “You want something to drink?”

“Yeah..”

James sat down on the plastic covered couch. He always felt like he was going to slip off of it, which was faintly funny.

There was an age-old picture of one of Frank's classic cars on the wall, along with a gloriously young version of his mother, Thelma, resting seductively on the hood, the wind blowing her dark, curled hair about and her polka dot top doing little to leave the thought of her nakedness to one's imagination.

_“Thelm, you really should watch that kid,”_ Frank would say in the days of James' troublesome teenage years, _“He'll get in trouble with the law if you let him stay out late!”_

He remembered his mother sitting in that car. Her poise straight, her beauty humble and contained. Her auburn hair was always up, like Mary's, and she was never like the cooler Moms who wore slacks and let their shirts a tad undone to show their cleavage and flaunt their horrible, pointed bras. She was submissive in word and deed, a true old-world, anti-American woman. She left every decision and punishment to Frank. She never drove this car or any one before it.

James shook his head. Those days were gone now. The days where the neighborhood was decent and the economy was good. The American dream was in full swing for everyone, and they all celebrated by getting drunk and high and protesting and practicing free love. Those were the crazy, whacked out days.

_Thelm, watch out for that kid.._

Frank came back with some ice tea in another aged glass cup with a minimum of two ice cubes, and a bit of sugar. Inwardly, James shook his head. His father added extra sugar to every drink that clearly didn't need it—soda, lemonade, ginger ale, and whatever else. Force of habit.

“Were you looking at that?” he pointed to Thelma and the car. “Thelm loved that car. You wouldn't remember, you were too little.”

“Hell, I'm surprised _you_ remember, Dad.”

“How could I ever forget? I have so many photos of your Ma, you haven't even seen them all. I guess I'm one of the lucky old men. I have more pieces of my past than a lot of people my age.”

“Yeah..”

“You know, you could have gone to us if you needed anything.” Frank said quietly.

James turned to him, unable to voice his desire to fix things that couldn't be undone. “I'm sorry.”

He thought maybe it was because of her realizing that she lacked any real personality, any real worth or consequence in this life, that she finally decided to die.

There wasn't much else to be said. Anything thereafter dissolved into nothing.

Thelma looked on at both of them from her car, endlessly smiling. Her happiness, and theirs, similarly, all lost in time.

 

 

People shoved past everyone else. The cries of children and babies, the groans of old men, and the laughter of young girls erupted from the crowd of rushing bodies. The screeching of the rails abetted after a time, allowing her thoughts some coherency.

She walked around with a watchful air, trying not to appear like she was intentionally following anyone, but at the same time, she wondered why she cared what a bunch of strangers thought of her. It wasn't them she needed to see, anyway.

If he continued on like this, trapped in his fear, who knew what he might end up doing.

Which lent her some disturbing thoughts. What exactly did she interrupt that fateful day, when she found James walking toward his car, the door carelessly left open and the vehicle itself parked with silly haste?

_“James, are you leaving?” she ran up to him, soon out of breath and grasping her bent knees with her small hands._

_As an eight year old, she probably couldn't identify a kind of desperate intent on a person's face, but at the very least, James looked terribly worried. He looked like he wanted her gone. He looked like he might even have been asking himself what she was doing here in the first place, and why she just couldn't be somewhere else at this moment._

_Always a pitiful liar, James said, “Oh, it's you, Laura.. I thought you left.”_

_“Can I come with you? I don't have a ride home.”_

_She didn't have a home either, but he didn't need to know that._

_James massaged his hands in uneasy thought, looking here and there, biting his lip, heaving a sigh, wanting to say something but keeping it in. Foiled in whatever he wanted to do in her absence, he said, “I think I am.. All out of gas.”_

_Laura stretched. “K. So we walk.”_

_James looked down. “Yeah, I guess we do.”_

She tried not to give away her anguish by sighing and hopelessly looking around the platform, but she was failing miserably. The wretched man wasn't here.

She walked back the way she came, walked up the steps, and stopped on the sidewalk. What direction was it?

Laura kicked her memory into gear. The porch, cell-phone number exchange, didn't want to go home..

She decided to follow her hunch and start from her own house, turning left. It would be a long walk even if she were going the right direction, as he lived near the outskirts.

As she walked on, the neighborhood became progressively poorer. Cats skittered across the street like foxes on the prowl, dogs sat on the porches of their owners and panted from the late night heat. The homeless perched on benches, wearing tattered shorts and sandals that were too small for them. A fat woman walked her plump hotdog down the block while a cute pudgy kid wearing a soiled striped shirt followed close behind.

Ashfield had many different faces depending on who you asked, and most people broke it into two parts—the “high” and the “low” quarters. James definitely resided in the low or poor quarter, deep in the ghetto. Most of the people in this area were minorities: African American or Hispanic, and Asian at some parts, as people tended to segregate into their own ethnic groups for a tighter sense of community and culture. He had said he was pretty much out of the way of everything, but he must have meant that he was situated far from better living.

She passed myriads of little shops and corner-stores, often referred to as _tiendas_ by the Latinos.

_Lala's Nails, El Supermercado.._

Where was she?

Faintly, she remembered the small, gray streaked building behind a row of bushes, near the train tracks. James said the train often startled him awake in the middle of the night.

This was the place.

Laura hesitantly approached the steps, desperately wishing for anything that could absolve the tension in her stomach. The doors didn't give way without a fight, and the creak resounded throughout the lobby. She looked from the left to the right and back again, as if she were about to cross the street or make a turn at a busy intersection. It was dark, like that place from her childhood, and it would have almost appeared abandoned if it weren't for the fidgety, dirty, middle-aged man depositing his trash in a nearby chute. He turned around to stare at her shamelessly as she quickly walked past. All kinds of unsettling notions crossed her mind.

What would anyone think when they caught her here? Would they break into depraved smiles and think, _What's this pretty girl doing here?_

A burly African-American man shuffled past her and gruffly stated, “Girl, you must be lost,” as he hurried off.

She let out a little gasp and looked back, now wrapping her arms around her waist. Creeps everywhere.

She definitely remembered climbing some stairs to get to his place, but the fact that all the doors looked the same no matter where she went only impeded her progress.

“Are you lost?” a skinny limbed, younger woman approached her warily. She scratched at her neck every now and then, peering at her with buggy, tired eyes.

“Um.. A little. I can't remember where my friend lives. His name is James.”

“Mm..” she looked back, “I don't know any James. He must not talk to anyone then. Just go back downstairs and look at the list on the wall.. The one that says the names and room numbers.”

“Oh.. I didn't see it the first time around.”

“Well, it's there.” she responded rather impatiently, turning around to walk back.

Laura fought a roll of the eyes at her rudeness and went back down the stairs.

After a little bit of searching, she did find the elusive list, tacked haphazardly to the outdated bulletin board with other meaningless papers announcing apartment rules concerning pets, the consequences of disruptive behavior, and what to do in case of the occasional noncompliance of the overused phone booth just outside.

She skimmed over to “J”.

_Jacklyn Ackerman – rm 206_

_Jack Norringway – rm 210_

_Jake Townsend – rm 402_

_Jamal Williams – rm 401_

_James Holstead – rm 106_

_James Sunderland – rm 308_

She swallowed and took a few breaths before she headed up.

There his door stood, cold and uninviting. She approached it and put her ear to the door. She heard faint footsteps inside, along with the rustle of a bag and the low drone of the TV. He was there. But how would he react? Would he just not answer the door? Would he scream at her to go away?

Laura put a hand to her chest to still her beating heart and knocked with as much composure as she could muster.

“Who is it?” his muffled voice asked, at a safe distance from the door.

Laura stifled the impulse to answer and turned to the hallway to see if anyone happened to be watching her. Her growing paranoia about this place was beginning to fray her nerves and she wasn't all that sure she was safe from being taken advantage of or being mugged. It just didn't seem scary the first time because she had been with James.

“Please let me in.” she let her forehead press against the door and held her eyes closed, her hand over her heart closing into a fist. “Please, James.”

No reply. She managed to make out a few sounds, but the noise was very minimal. Some minor shuffling here, a box fell, a voice raised a few octaves from the TV, and then a little explosion.

The latch slid out and the door opened just a crack. “Who are you?”

“James. You don't recognize my voice anymore?”

It took a few seconds, but after that, she finally caught his eyes peeping at her through the small space he allowed his door to open. “Laura.. Listen, I—”

“Let me in, James.” her throat was dry. “I'm not leaving until you let me in.”

With trembling fingers, he assented, finally revealing to her his whole body. He couldn't face her.

James didn't have the chance to say another word before Laura flung herself into his arms and held him tight.

“James!”

He stumbled back a little and caught her, with a cross of confusion and tenderness coloring his face. “Laura? Are you ok?”

“No I'm not!” she cried, pulling away. “What's the matter with you!”

James fixed his bangs as a pitiful way of distracting himself from his own embarrassment. If anything, it made him look even more embarrassed.

“Laura.. You don't get it.” he brought her into his embrace again, settling his head gently on her shoulder. “You don't understand.”

“You hate me, don't you?” she whispered.

Her skin was so soft and warm, probably flushed from her emotions. Her hair had begun to fall over his face, and he breathed in her faint, sweet strawberry scent.

And in that moment he no longer understood why he would ever, _ever_ give this up.

“I'm so sorry, Laura.”

Her grip around him tightened. “I never meant to hurt you. I don't understand what I did—”

“You didn't do anything wrong.. It was my fault. I was just...afraid.”

Laura's hand traveled up his back to slowly sift through his hair.

“I promise I won't be afraid anymore. I'm sorry I left you behind. If things were different.. I would have taken you with me. I would have given you everything. I know I never got to take care of you.. But I want you here.”

She closed her eyes and smiled.

“I promise I won't ever leave you behind either.”

“Why?” he ran his fingers down her hair, his eyes on her now.

“Because you're a part of me I can't let go. Even while I was growing up, I couldn't stop thinking about you. I wanted to see you again. But this time, I wanted to see you finally happy.”

James didn't force it; right now, he honestly couldn't help it. He smiled, brushing her bangs back and planting a small kiss on her forehead.

“You are a part of me, too,” he murmured into her warmth.


	6. Coming Around Again

The early traffic was only beginning to take hold. Every now and then a car zoomed really fast down the streets, and that frequent, horrid train whistle would sound outside. The letters, the white and the yellower one, sat on the edge of the little round table next to his couch.

Wrapped like a mummy in his blankets, he stared at the black screen of the TV, suffused in thoughts of the past. What couldn't be reversed. What now is, and would forever be. And how sad it was that time was the only thing that was truly eternal, passing and passing and never looking back. James had always been haunted by many ghosts, and so far none of them had let up. He truly doubted any of them ever would.

_Dear Frank,_

_It's been a while since I last wrote you. I'm so sorry for the delay, but I've been recently caught up in a lot of things._

_My sincere condolences. I just want you to know that I am here for you if you ever need to talk about anything._

_I will pray for you and James. I pray that your pain will be cut short in this sad time. Please don't hesitate to call on me if you need anything!_

_I know she had been sick for a while, but despite the way things have gone, I know she is in a better place.._

He had crumpled up the letter in his angry fist and swallowed his emotions. That woman. She couldn't even understand the _half_ of it.

_Frank,_

_How are you doing?_

_Thank you for the flowers, but please don't bring anymore. I tell Rachel to water them all the time, but she always forgets._

_I made a new friend. James hasn't met her yet. She comes to my room everyday and we talk for a long time. I never tire of it, unlike most other things. Rachel has a nasty habit of shooing her away when she sees us together. She always tells her I'm “sensitive” and not to be bothered. I'm starting to feel like I'm contagious._

_Good news is, I have been feeling a little better. The nausea doesn't come on as strong now because of the medication, but the bad side is that it knocks me out of my right mind. But maybe that's better than being awake. All I really do is stare at the ceiling and think about a succession of meaningless things._

_Please don't scold James for not coming. I'm the one who told him to stay away in the first place. It's so painful for him to see me like this, you just have no idea.._

James felt something heavy and shivering in his stomach, something that he couldn't quite name. The three long years that he dealt with Mary's illness had ate him away until there was nothing left but a hard, unfeeling core. A bitter denial. In time, that grew into a devastating, violent wish.

“What are those?” Laura sleepily murmured, rubbing her eyes and yawning. She had stepped out of his room without his notice and was now standing a little way away, the rim of her crumbled shorts falling down her left hip and exposing a slither of alluring skin.

He had allowed her to sleep over again, because yet again she didn't want to leave. He couldn't quite put his finger on the real reason she never wanted to go home—perhaps she was in love with him or she just wanted him to feel less alone—but whatever it was, she could easily override all his urges to go home with her bright eyes and her small, pouting lips. It was hard enough to leave her there on the platform, much less when she was in his own home, begging to stay.

“Letters.” James knew what to expect from her after such a word. They could only mean her.

“Is one of them from Mary?”

He handed them both to her. “Here.”

Laura glimpsed at the letters and back to him again. “Are you sure?”

“I gave them to you.” he stood and turned away, making a bee-line for the kitchenette. He didn't want to be standing around while those letters were read. It just made him uncomfortable.

Laura seated herself on the couch and pushed the hair out of her face. After long minutes of reading, she set them both down her lap. “Neither of them were written to you. Who's Frank?”

“My dad.”

“Oh. Is he still alive?”

“Barely.”

Laura put a hand to her heart. “I'm sorry.”

“No, I didn't mean it like that. He's just really old, is all.” he chuckled, setting himself down on the couch.

“I remember Rachel, but... what was this letter about? Did she know..”

“No. That was before Mary.”

She skimmed the letter again, sensing that James was being intentionally evasive.

He sighed. “She was talking about my mom. It kinda happened around the same time.”

James closed his eyes and breathed through his nose. There was a slow, passing silence in the room. She couldn't quite express just how much she felt like a inconsiderate idiot for ever wanting to ask.

“Victoria got on me a lot because I didn't talk to him for a long time.”

“Victoria? Oh, your probation officer.”

“I haven't talked to her in days, either. And I have to apologize again for being a prick.” James rubbed the back of his neck. “She was angry because of what happened with me and you.”

“You brush everyone off, don't you?” she candidly remarked. “When they get too close.”

James could only look at her. No amount of physical expression would really convince her otherwise.

“I told you I won't push you away anymore.”

“And I believe you.” she stood, smiling. “I have to get ready for school soon. Can I come back later?”

James swallowed all the avoidant answers he could have given—ones that were given so often it was almost instinctive. He had to remind himself that she wasn't like them. She wasn't there to judge or to ridicule. She was just here, and she wanted to be.

“Sure. I'll send you a text if something comes up.”

Laura didn't reply. She knew pretty well that James had absolutely no life aside from work. Yet, though his fondness for Laura had him pine for her company at times, the misanthrope in him wanted time to think alone, and in the best case scenario, a way out of it altogether. Having company was always emotionally draining to him, something that often gave him nothing but anxiety and irritation.

Given how young she was, she could be restless sometimes and probe into things that weren't really her business. At the very least, they hadn't known each other long enough to be discussing certain things.

Laura went back into his room to get her things. In a few minutes time she was dressed again in yesterday's clothes and had her bag slung over her shoulder. She gave him a quick, last smile before she closed the door behind her. He didn't reciprocate it.

His thoughts switched back to the letters. They had been plaguing his mind ever since Frank had bestowed them. They had since become little sneering gremlins, reminding him of his misfortunes, making him itch with regret. One person he had managed to keep in relative darkness, a certain Thelma Sunderland, had begun dancing around in his nightmares again. Suddenly he was hearing her cherished Beatles records and the quick _thwp_ sound her dress made when she tied the bow at the back. She was always precise with her bow; it had to stick out and be plush and full, like a puppy's ears. Her lips were always cherry red, like her blood, and her skin always pallid and spotty. Yet none of these things saved her. Not her beauty or her promise. It all came up short.

_She had a habit of taking unusually long baths. The bathroom became her room. Frank would knock, and yet there would be no answer. His only responses were the rush of running water and the occasional, careful sloshing. Then an hour or two later she would reappear, her usual self, but a little more hushed and secretive._

_He never knew why. His child mind envisioned a secret meeting, a dreamland, a visit to a sacred possession they could never see. But who else was in there but her? If it was a dreamland, then why would she leave so tight-lipped and agonized? And nothing was in there but a bathroom. No treasure chest._

_It was a bright, sultry day. Nearly everyone was outside. The sun hit every inch of everything, making the cars look white and having orbs play in his eyes. A girl in a summer frock straddled a bicycle; a pug ate a hot dog buried in the grass; a plump man flipped burgers, throwing sparkles and smoke in the air. Summer, wonderful summer, when there was no school and no teachers to be heard of. Just a bunch of playing, staying up late, immature pranks and making out in the night. Of course, that's what everyone else saw. Caught up in their own happy dream._

_That was not for him. That day, he was given a starkly different picture._

_The walls were white-washed and blinding, and the murmur of the people set his stomach ablaze with discomfort. Mom was being wheeled around on the gurney and they followed like fast paced dogs, eager to see where they would be going next. He never did like it here._

_She said nothing and made no sounds of any kind, only held on to her husband's hand like she did when she was pregnant. He didn't remember this, though. It was a play he hadn't had a part in, but he could have imagined easily enough. Same place, same primal anxieties._

_Amid eerie silence and the constant beeping, the twiddling of fingers, the fearful expressions, and the doctor taking too long with that medication he promised, Mom reached her spidery fingers over the rail and reached out for him. Her knobby wrist clanked against her handcuffs and her hand was stopped from going any further. There she lay, tired and worn, her hands trapped on either side of the bed like Jesus imprisoned in a different position. She offered her pale, bloodless hand. Not for Frank, but for him. He stood and squeezed it, almost tempted to turn her hand over to see where she had made the cut._

_A crowd of nurses gossiped outside. Their voices were rushed, restless and bored._

_“God, this is America,” he recalled. Some more incoherent talk, and then, “..Land of the free, home of the brave. Have some common decency.”_

…

_“Hey..”_

“Hey. Just wanted to know if you were coming over again soon,” he threaded his fingers through a rip in his jeans.

_“Well, do you want me to?”_

“..Yes, but I don't want you to unless _you_ want to.”

_“Of course I want to, James.”_

 

“Give me that package, I have to check it again..”

“Ok.”

He moved farther away from the voices until he was in his quiet backroom. The boxes acted as barriers, making it look claustrophobic and cramped. He didn't mind much. He had been in places far worse, of course.

“Where's James?” he heard Bettie's muffled voice say in the hallway outside.

James made for the file cabinet and started avidly sorting out files to make it seem like he was doing something.

Just then, Bettie sauntered in, her hips swinging and her shiny, perfect weave bouncing. “Hey, James!”

“Hello.”

“We've got someone new starting today. And, ooh, she is _so_ pretty!”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah. She'll be helping you out in the back room from time to time.” she smiled in that overly enthusiastic way of hers, clicking her tongue as a gesture of recommendation. Bettie did this more to get James to talk to other people. It would be ideal for Bettie if James had a girlfriend, though.

As it was, Bettie had known that James had been in jail before and for a long number of years, and had even understood that he had been married at a point in time. But she knew not to dig up the bones.

_“Honey, that is your business, and it's not my concern or my place to be bugging you about that,”_ she had said.

But surely if Bettie knew what he had done, she would try to keep this new girl away from him. She probably wouldn't even talk to him herself anymore, which sounded vaguely depressing.

“Want me to call her in here?”

James couldn't get a word in edgewise before Bettie opened the door and called her over to meet him. His heart started beating, and he grew frustrated with himself for reacting this way. Ever since he could remember, he was always this nervous around others, and even the prospect of meeting others made his hands sweat.

The newcomer slipped in, her hands folded in front of her. She smiled sweetly back at him, her curly, auburn hair like a halo around her head. She was dressed conservatively, like his mother. She brushed down on her bright orange flannel skirt and hid her colored nails from his view. Her shirt was a collared, buttoned-up blouse of a dull yellow. From this he could imagine the scene of her house—filled with vivid paintings of blotchy nothings, grotesque pottery, green walls, some pet lizards, maybe. She could be the artsy, intellectual type.

“Hi. I'm James.” he stood and held out his hand. They shook. Her hands were smooth and controlled.

“Elise.”

“That's a real pretty name.” Bettie remarked. James thought she had probably said it to her before.

“I hope you like it here,” he remarked coolly, and went back to the file cabinet, as he always did.

James could sense Bettie's disappointment with his curt greeting, but what did she expect? It took him a long time to get used to Bettie, too. It was just the way he was. And he wasn't sure it was all that healthy for him to be making all these friends when they were blissfully unaware of the true, darker self that he tried so hard to keep from scaring others. If he kept away, there would be nothing to discuss. Nothing to tell.

 

 

The Ashfield Centre was a hive, and one of the commercial highlights of the town. Now that it was spring, the annual festival was in full swing. In the lighter years of their marriage, Mary tried to drag James here every weekend at least. He didn't much like the shopping, but being close to her, hearing her gentle voice asking if he liked that red or that pink, was more than he needed to keep him from complaining. Mary knew he was a home body and never made him stay longer than he wanted to. He wished that he somehow knew beforehand how much time he had left with her so he would really cherish every moment, eliminate every argument, and give her everything she ever wanted.

It was peculiar, though, that while he could remember Mary so fluidly, he couldn't remember anything they had ever argued about.

“Are you thinking about her?” Laura smiled. “I can tell. You're always spaced out when you do.”

James smiled. “I'm always thinking of her, so I'm always spaced out.”

She laughed.

_He walked around from corner to corner in this maze, unable to reach the end, and at the time unwilling to consult his map. All he met were low-perched, white benches and lonely gazebos where the leaves of bushes and vein-like stems were beginning to penetrate and slither around the intricate lattice-work. Gates continually kept him from progressing in a certain direction. More brick walls. Some graves of brave soldiers, or a long-deceased, founding father of the strange religion that seemed to inhabit this town._

_He pulled out his map, frustrated with himself for getting this lost, and found that he was near one of the sets of steps that let out into the walkway, where the rows of telescopes looked out on the lake. He followed its precious guidance until he saw the peering, ET eyes of the telescope, congratulating him for finding his way. He ran down the brick path until he saw, to his excitement, a figure in the fog, leaning pensively on the railing and staring ahead at Toluca Lake._

_“Mary!” he cried out, breathless._

_She slowly turned around, resting her elbows on the railing._

_“No, you're...not.”_

“James, snap out of it!” she nudged him. “You know, you do this more in public places than anywhere else. You know that?”

“Oh, sorry..” he pinched the bridge of his nose, heaving a sigh and blinking his eyes. “Yeah, I know, I have a lot of weird habits. Not that you haven't realized that by now.”

Laura approached a kiosk adorned with giant, useless stuffed animals tapered onto each other like grapes at every corner. In the middle stood a pyramid of bottles of various sizes. She slapped down her money and the man replaced it with 10 plastic rings of differing colors. He stuffed the bills in his bulging fanny pack and stepped back, with a face that James could argue was sure of her failure.

The first three were near misses, but the fourth she managed to wrap around a small bottle. She turned around and smiled excitedly, and James gestured her to continue. The rest, sadly, didn't make the cut. The man, with a goofy grin of his own, presented her with a small pile of trinkets and toys she could choose from, all too ugly for even a small child in James' taste. Laura took a yellow, stuffed crab with black-bead eyes and had it prance playfully around his shoulders.

“Crab,” she unnecessarily chirped.

“Yes, I see that.”

Tired of walking, James sat down on the bench while Laura went to get them sodas. During the day his mind kept drifting to yesterday, namely the moment when Laura threw herself into his arms. Did she act that way when she would break up with her boyfriend or something? She said she kept thinking about him all throughout her childhood. Did she tell any of her friends about him? What would her roommate say if she found out Laura was hanging around him?

“You wanted a large, right?”

“Yep,” he grabbed it from her hands and took a grateful sip.

“Kay, just making sure.” she sipped on hers too, keeping her eyes on James.

He swallowed. “Why are you staring at me?”

Laura shrugged.

“Did you call your friend and tell her you slept over?”

“Why are you always so concerned about what my friend thinks?”

“I don't care _what_ she thinks,” he snapped, “I asked you if you told her. Sometimes I wonder if anyone worries about you, Laura. I know you're more outgoing than I am, yet you're hanging out with me. I mean, what's the big deal?”

“First of all, Katelyn's not my mom. Why should she constantly worry about where I am? We're not even that close.”

James' eyes creased. “I thought you were best friends.”

“I mean, we are, but..”

She lowered the soda to her stomach, looking down. Her hair started falling over her profile like a unfolding fan. He reached out to her, his fingers sliding through her hair and placing it behind her ear.

“Are you upset?”

She wasn't crying. Her eyes weren't teary, but her mouth was taut. “I kinda got into an argument with her yesterday. I didn't want to go home because of that.”

“Then what about all the other times you stayed? Even the first time. Why didn't you want to go home? And tell me the truth.”

She shifted uncomfortably and shook her head, biting her lip, then standing up suddenly, “It's nothing. Look, if you don't want me to stay over—”

“That's not it. I just wanted to know why. I'm not one of your girlfriends, you know. You guys can have sleepovers and it won't be a big deal, but don't you realize that staying over my house, especially with _my_ past record, is a little unusual?”

Her smile was coy and deviant. “One could argue you're unstable, I suppose.”

“And they could “suppose” the same thing about you.”

“You really need to lighten up.”

James shook his head in response and stood up himself. “Whatever. It doesn't matter.”

They both started to walk around again. James' feet were still tired, and a dull ache throbbed through his spinal column, but he managed to ignore it for the sake of Laura's contentment. She went to great lengths to get him to laugh and smile, but her attempts were only scarcely awarded.

James couldn't act happy when he wasn't. That would only delude her into thinking that she could help it.

What had Laura and her friend fought about? Laura was unwilling to tell, but he couldn't help but think it must have had _something_ to do with him. Otherwise, she was running away from something, just like she had done when they first met.

_“You'll keep me, won't you?”_

As it was now getting darker, people began lighting the lanterns and setting them on the water, in commemoration of a long-held Japanese tradition that somehow found its way to this little town. Of course, you had to buy a lantern, which James did with some initial reluctance at the behest of Laura, who bought one for herself as well. On the little note card attached, it explained that this tradition celebrated the eventual changing of the seasons, and therefore, the continuance of life. He remembered how Mary thought this was so beautiful and poetic. He never saw it the same way. To him, those worthless wastes of paper would all end up rotting in some gutter, only serving to worsen the trashy appearance of the streets.

“Look! They're all floating away.” Laura grabbed his hand and he felt a little squeeze. Everyone stepped back to watch. The river glittered with lanterns both far and near.

Mary had loved setting her lantern away, but what exactly was it that made her so teary? Was it the freedom of gliding on nothing? Or was the heart of the matter much simpler than that: the mere fact that they would never return?


	7. Unwell

 

Laura's clothes were strewn all over the bedroom. A jean skirt and the pink bra from the day before lay in a crumpled heap by the bed, and her worn Hollister tank-top was spread out over the covers. After a long night of talking about a wide array of subjects, Laura decided to take a shower. James stood staring at the clothes, feeling a certain dread.

In all the time she had been here, no one had called her. He never saw her take out her phone to text anyone. Wasn't someone thinking about her? Wondering about her? Searching for her, possibly?

At the risk of entertaining the thought that he could be sheltering a runaway, or that she might not be in college at all, he turned on the TV.

Some old _CSI: Miami_ was on. He always held a little disdain for forensic shows like this. The reason didn't present itself, though.

About fifteen minutes later, the water stopped running. Steam started streaming through the bottom of the door, floating upward and disappearing before reaching the ceiling. She was in there for another ten minutes after that, emerging from the bathroom with a towel wrapped carelessly around her hair and her bald forehead beaded with water droplets. She looked like a plain mermaid, except with an older, more discerning look. He wondered why, especially at her age, that her eyes could do so much to him. Make him feel invaded. Found out.

She broke into a smile and said, “CSI?”

“Huh?” his eyes flitted to the screen. “Yeah. Don't really watch it, but there's hardly anything good on.”

“You need better cable, then.”

“Dish is fine for me. I'm not a big TV person. Most of the time I just keep it on to fill the house with some noise.”

Laura elapsed into silence for a little while after that remark. She seated herself and started squeezing her hair dry with the towel, tussling it every now and then to get some volume going. Her hair was too flat to put any body into it, he knew, but she still applied all sorts of “voluminous” products to her hair anyhow.

“You remember Joseph?”

“Of course.” He changed the channel.

“Well I didn't tell you this when I was little, but I found out that Stan pulled a dirty trick on me to get me to work against you and Joseph.” This she stated very glibly as she shook her hair out. Her tawny blond hair settled like a wet rag across her sunburned shoulders.

“..I figured that.”

“That's not all he did.”

The channel changed again.

“He lied. He told me that if I didn't testify, then they would just give you life in prison. And then they'd throw me back in the orphanage 'to rot'. That's how he said it... 'To rot'..” Laura's expression grew dark. “And that's what they did.”

“I didn't get life in prison, Laura,” he patted her damp shoulder. He went to the kitchen to pour her something to drink, thinking that she could probably use it, even if she wasn't thirsty.

When he came back with it, she stared at it for a moment, and then her eyes creased hatefully. She grabbed it from him, spilling a little on her thumb and setting it down on the table hard. “Why don't you ever tell me anything!”

James still had his hand in mid air, cupped around an imaginary glass of water. His mouth slightly agape, he only breathed through his lips, again unable to speak anything that would really answer her. Instead, he took out his quickly diminishing pack of Marlboro Reds and lit up. Laura looked appalled.

Her hands were digging into her knees and her mouth was set in a hard line. “You're not going to heal if you never let it out, you know.”

“You'll be a great psychologist one day, Laura,” he puffed smoke out and rested his head on the couch. “Just talk to your patients like you talk to me.”

A desperate confusion began to set in her features. She shook her head and turned away, not sure what to say anymore.

James took another drag of his cigarette and looked at his burnt hand. The spot had become purple and begun to shed. When he stretched out his palm, it would sting. Her fingers threaded through his own and caressed the sensitive area around the wound.

“How did you get this?”

“How do you think?” he pulled his hand away.

“You don't..hurt yourself like this on a regular basis, do you?”

He rolled his eyes and closed his hand into a fist, staring at it with some degree and bitter concentration. “I'm not some depressed teenager. I think I can handle my crappy moods without mutilating myself constantly.”

“Talk to me.” she languished on the couch, sweetly touching her fingers to her lips.

“About what?”

“..Anything.”

_“Hello Moto..”_ his phone burst, a square of blue light visible from his jeans pocket. Sweet salvation. He groaned and pulled it out, taking another second to look at the caller. He glimpsed at Laura and put a finger to his lips, and opened the phone. “Victoria,” he murmured.

The voice on the other line didn't wait for a greeting; instead it rambled on for a while in its small, indistinct voice.

“I know, I know.”

Some more garbled language, a nod on James' part, a quick, “Okay. Yep.”

He closed the phone like a clam and shoved it back in his pocket, standing up. “Uhm..” he took a moment to survey his apartment. It was in shambles again. Too many pizza boxes on the kitchen counter. Some bottles of ice-tea on the table. The TV screen was dusty.

“I'm going to start tidying up. If I don't, Victoria will have a BF.”

Laura burst out laughing at the unexpected _White Chicks_ reference. “A BF! I didn't know you liked movies.”

“I don't.” James set off to clean the house.

“So is someone more important than me coming over?” she asked, crossing her arms in faux contempt, though he knew it was how she really felt to a degree.

“Victoria.”

James trashed the pizza boxes and wiped down the table, “You can stay, if you want,” he continued, followed by a huff of exertion as he tried to scrub a small stain out of existence, “But I don't know how you'll feel around her. She is a little.. much, even for me.”

“Really.”

Laura went into the bedroom and came back with her hair brush. “Is she coming over right now?”

“In a little bit, she'll be here, yeah.” The sink turned on and James washed his hands. Without turning around, he asked, “So you're staying?”

“Nah, I have to go to classes soon anyway. And besides, you probably have a lot to discuss with her that's of a...” she picked at a knot in her hair, “A private nature.”

James didn't respond.

Laura reemerged with only two books and a pack of chewing gum in her arms. James studied her, tempted to ask why she was leaving with so little, but she beat him to it. “I'm going to be coming by after classes.”

He wanted to say something but for some reason his mouth kept closed.

In a flash a look of genuine concern graced her features. “Is that _okay_?”

“Yeah,” he exhaled.

Her departure strangely set him on a route of thinking that was a tad unsettling to consider. It had been two days since she came here, and still no talk of relatives, any friends aside from Katelyn, who she was now on bad terms with, and no talk of college. She never brought up her classes or anything interesting she had learned. She only wanted to know about _him_. How could she get on him about not telling him anything if she didn't want to spill anything herself?

Scratch what happened to him. That was old news. What had happened to _her_?

In view of the fact that Victoria would be here in a few minutes, James put away his cigarettes (she didn't like it when he smoked) and changed his clothes, which he had sloppily slept in.

By the time he finished all of these busying tasks he caught sight of Victoria closing the door and stuffing her keys back in her purse. “Hey.” she said lightheartedly.

“Hey.” That was quick.

“So you told her?”

“I didn't tell her like you told me to. I just said I wouldn't push her away anymore. That's it.”

Victoria didn't look all that impressed, but she nodded anyway. “That's good I guess. She stayed over?”

“Yeah.”

“Now you said you met her in Silent Hill, correct?” she began to sound like a cop.

“Yes, you are correct,” he mocked.

“Okay. So.. Did she see any monsters, like you did?”

“..No. But why would she? She was only 8 years old at the time. She had no baggage."

“What do you mean?”

He sighed, took a deep breath, and tried not to care how crazy he sounded. “They don't... It doesn't appear.. I mean, you don't _see_ anything unless..you have something in your heart. Something dark and— _unresolved_.”

“And who told you this?” she tilted her head.

“No one. I just know. Eddie, Angela—and people I haven't even met. They all said the same thing. Said they saw things.”

“Hmm.” James wasn't used to seeing this kind of troubled look on Victoria's face. Whether it was because she might just be giving some credence to what he was saying or she was now beginning to think he was even crazier than she thought, he couldn't ascertain.

“Now, you said you took a lot of papers with you, right? While you were walking around, you picked stuff up..” she said to jog his memory.

“Yeah, I picked a whole bunch of stuff up. A lot of it I didn't keep though. It just made me heavier.”

“And do you have any of those papers?”

James shook his head. “They're all with Joseph. I never bothered to ask for them back. For all I know, they're tacked on some policeman's bulletin board as a clue for missing people, or my psychiatrist has them.”

Victoria's eyes did a strange thing. They suddenly flitted to the side, and then to the ceiling, as if she birthed a new idea. “I want you to call Joseph.”

“Don't have his number.”

“Then look him up,” Victoria snapped, “And then ask for everything back.”

“Today?”

Victoria nodded. James went into the kitchen with a huff of defeat. “Want some coffee?”

“Sure.” she went to the bathroom and fixed her hair, which the wind had blown a little out of place. Through the mirror, she could see the door to his bedroom slightly ajar.

Victoria stepped out and glimpsed at James, who had her back turned to her as he took out a container of Maxwell House coffee and started washing the long neglected dishes. She slipped off quickly to his room.

Right at the foot of the door, there lay a pair of panties and other strewn articles of clothing. The bed was not made, and two books were piled on top of each other on the side drawer.

 

 

“I told Victoria, but she didn't believe me. I told Joseph, and he wanted to use it as grounds for an insanity plea.”

Laura swallowed. “I'm sorry, James, but.. I didn't see anything. It just looked like a normal town to me.”

“It's alright. You weren't meant to,” he said softly, pulling out various brown and tattered papers sown together by withering string.

“What are those?” she pointed.

“Your material for a therapy session.” He handed her the notes he found on the street.

She read over them quickly, muttering to herself, “Run away, run away...” She lifted her eyes to his. “What is this?”

“What do you think it is?"

“So..there were others who saw those things? The monsters?”

“They weren't the same for everyone.”

“You mean they didn't look the same? Did Eddie see monsters?”

“Yeah. He said so when I first met him in the apartment building.”

James sifted through the papers and came across the old, bloodied newspaper article that mentioned Thomas Orosco, and shifted it to the back of the pile. It now came to Angela, the girl Laura never met. While they had discussed Angela briefly, he didn't go into detail about her past or her ultimate fate, as it felt like a misdeed to Angela's memory if one only remembered her as a girl with an abusive past who, in the end, couldn't escape her demons and fell into the abyss.

Eddie, however, was an unavoidable subject, and she was especially interested in his gunshot wounds because she remembered he had been bleeding in the hotel. Laura was so engrossed in the retelling of his final confrontation with Eddie that she visibly reacted to it; she would gasp whenever Eddie cursed and put her hands to her heart when James was shot again, causing him to stumble to the ground and scramble around for the shotgun. Laura's hands flew up to her mouth. James almost felt like laughing and telling her that obviously he lived through it because he was still here, but thought it would be more important to just go on with the story.

And so, after a last chance shot, Eddie finally collapsed with a frightening bellow of defeat, and died there on the cold floor of the meat locker, like a fairytale beast. The act of killing him triggered an odd thought.

“..So that's when I really started to think that Mary didn't die three years ago, which you confirmed when you told me how old you were later on..”

Laura's arm slowly snaked up his chest, and James tensed. Her fingers stopped at his collarbone, hooking onto his shirt and slowly pulling it down. Sure enough, a dark, purplish spot stared back at her, the skin surrounding it still looking puffed up and swollen, even after the time that had elapsed.

“Which one of your arms was it?” she began rolling up his sleeves.

“Laura!” James grasped her wrist and placed it back on her lap. “Please keep your hands to yourself. If you wanted to see it, I could have shown you myself.”

She looked down. “Sorry.”

He sighed, and took off his jacket. Then he shimmied out of his baggy collared polo, leaving just a plain black Fruit of the Loom t-shirt underneath. Laura suppressed the urge to ask why he was still wearing layers in the spring time, and gaped at the discolored dimple on his left forearm, mere inches from his shoulder wound. “Almost thought I couldn't use this arm anymore, it was so painful to walk, to run around.”

The battle with the two Red Pyramids he had to skim past—at this point, she was so wierded out by his macabre tale she was almost too afraid to ask questions.

But it wasn't as if he could avoid _her—_ the mysterious woman named Maria.

“But how could she look so much like Mary and not _be_ Mary? Maybe it was a trick.”

James laughed softly at the thought. “It wasn't the type of trick you would normally suppose. And anyway, the thing was, she wasn't real. She was just something I dreamed up.”

“Like a mirage?”

“No, she wasn't a mirage. She was real, and at the same time she wasn't. I could touch her, feel her—but I was probably the only person who could. She was only for me.”

Laura tried to wrap her head around this. No matter how she tried to believe it, to give James the benefit of the doubt, she couldn't. It was just too outlandish. She never realized how deeply he was disturbed by Silent Hill.

“Wow, James, that's...” she sighed, rubbing the back of her hands with her thumb and forefinger, “That..”

“You don't have to believe me.” James said. “But you wanted to know, and I didn't think, if we were going to continue to be friends, that I should keep this from you. That's what you wanted to know.”

Laura could have accepted it more easily if everything he'd seen had the properties of mirages, of insane delusions, but the fact that he could really batter them with a steel pipe and they would really bleed and cry out, she couldn't give credibility to. Yet, it was better than never knowing how he saw it, what he thought he went through. The fact that he could tell her these things, bizarre and terrifying as they were, was a step in the right direction.

But he said Eddie and Angela saw them, too. What did that mean, then? Was he lying?

“That's why you were surprised I didn't have a scratch on me..back there in the hospital.”

“Yeah,” James absently answered, putting his papers on the little shelf by the couch, while taking out some newer papers sheathed by a manilla folder. “Take a look at these if you want.”

They were a series of pencil sketches, some poorly drawn by James' unaccustomed hand, and others by a more experienced drawer. Most of them looked like they might have been human at one point in time, except for the box-like creatures that had black, charcoalish little feet hanging from their bodies. James even gave them an assortment of names.

“Straight Jacket Thing,” or “Patient Demon”; “Mannequin,” “Legs,” or “Barbie Dolls”; “Lips,” “Flesh bed”...

“Who's this guy? Is that the thing you saw in the apartment building? Behind the cage?”

“Yeah. At first he was the 'Red Pyramid Thing', because when I first saw him, he was blood red, but then after that I just started calling him 'Pyramid Head'.” James visibly shuddered. “He's not one to be trifled with.”

“Who drew the other ones?”

“A psychology teacher at Ashfield University.”

Laura lit up. “Who?” she cried. “Is it Dr. Strahm? Mr. Leibowitz?”

James had dreaded this. If Laura knew who the teacher was, no doubt, she'd go up to him and ask him all the questions that James was unwilling to answer. “Listen, I'm not telling you who it was. And if you pursue it, I will call up the teacher myself and tell him to lie and say he doesn't know me, okay?”

“Why are you being like this?” she crossed her arms.

“He doesn't know what I really did to Mary, okay?” he said coldly. “I just told him she died because she was sick, and since then, I've been having nightmares. I did _not_ tell him about Silent Hill. And anyway, you know more than he does now, so just drop the damn subject.”

Laura felt a rock drop in her stomach. James could be so volatile at times, she just didn't know when it would come up and bite her in the backside.

“Are you hungry?” his voice softened. He put the papers away.

“A little,” she shrugged, still a tad shaken after James' outburst.

James rummaged around in his freezer and brushed past a plastic bag of frozen corn dogs, which Victoria brought over despite the fact he hated corn dogs, a packet of green beans, some fries, frozen chocolate pops, and some chicken patties. “Umm.. chicken patties and fries? A corn dog if you want.” James chuckled to himself.

“Sure.”

James baked the chicken patties instead of microwaving them so they would be crispier, and added some lettuce and bacon for more flavor. He used his until-now useless deep fryer, another thing that Victoria decided to drop on him, and they sat down at the kitchenette and started eating. He guessed they were both sick of the couch by now.

“I talked to Katelyn today,” she quipped, her cheeks full.

“And?”

“She wants me to leave. Well, I want to leave too.”

“Why?”

“Because we've just grown apart. To tell you the truth, we're quite sick of each other.” she tilted her head and took another bite of her sandwich, her eyes fixed on James.

“..So what are you going to do now?”

Laura shrugged passively, ripping her sandwich apart and stuffing herself with some more fries. Through her gorged mouth, she uttered, “I don't know.”

When she swallowed, she rested her chin on the palm of her hand. “I'll start looking around. Do you mind if I shack up with you for a couple of days?”

 

 

James saw Elise regularly at work, just as Bettie had predicted. She usually came in twice a day to get something from the back room. At both of these occurrences, they exchanged curt greetings, but one day, circumstance compelled her to visit the back room a third time, in which they started a short conversation—nothing pressing, just a bunch of small talk, which James kind of hated, but at least he could put Victoria at ease with the fact that he was beginning to branch out in the social department. It appeared that Bettie had already invited her to dinner. James felt slightly jealous until Elise added, “And she was going to ask you, she said, but she had something to do today so she called off work. I think one of her family members is sick or something.”

“Well, I'll definitely be there, if she asks.”

For some reason, the idea of Elise being at the dinner set his stomach aflutter with excitement—not necessarily the good type of excitement, but the nervous, hopeful kind. James knew his boundaries with starting new relationships, and indeed, he had been really interested in someone before, only for it to end horribly because of his sheltered personality and his now futile loyalty to Mary. He wasn't sure what would come of it, but if it could lead to anything good, then for the first time in a long while, he was willing to try.

After Elise had left, James opened his phone and decided to text Laura.

_I am going to a dinner some time soon so you might be alone at the house for a while._ He pressed “send”.

…

_Error! Cannot Send Message. Code 3845 (Saved As Draft)_

James sighed. Stupid phone.

He pressed the green button and called her. One ring, two, then three..

...

_We're sorry. The number you have dialed is not in service at this time. Please check the number or try your call again._

Confusion set in like a bad taste on his tongue. He waited a few minutes for a call back or a text message, but nothing came. He called again. Still the same result.

_We're sorry—_

Why couldn't he get a hold of her all of a sudden? Laura..

_Are you in trouble?_ He inexplicably wondered.


	8. All Eyes On Me

_“Mr. Sunderland, you are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. You have the right to an attorney. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. Do you understand?”_

_James looked at Laura's small, frightened face—a ghostly circle inside the darkness of the car._

_He pressed his hands on the cold white surface of the police car, overcome with such shame he felt like shirking into a dot. “What's going to happen to her?” he asked, his voice shamefully broken._

_“Do you understand?” the officer repeated, sterner this time._

_James' head sunk in defeat. “Yes.”_

_The police station was even more cold than he could take. The lights were bright, like the hospital, and the eyes of the middle-aged, curdled mass of a man at the kiosk were staring at him with such intensity he suddenly couldn't breathe. He'd never run in with the law before for something this serious. Petty vandalism when he was 16, sure. But something like this? The experience was already proving too much to take. Especially since Laura kept trying to fight back to him, smart-mouthing the officer, using words she hadn't even used on James, and he had done something far worse to her than that man ever did._

_“Let go of me!” she cried, wrestling her arms free of the man's hairy, burly hand. “Don't touch me! I won't let you take me back there! James!”_

_“Sit down, young lady, and stop squirming,” he compressed her small frame and forcibly sat her down on the bench. “Now if you keep acting this way, I'm going to have to get someone to keep you still. Understand? Now where are your parents?”_

_“They're dead.” she spat._

_He looked to James. “Where are her parents, Mr. Sunderland?”_

_James shook his head. “I don't know. I don't think she has any.”_

_“I assume that's why you were driving at a whopping 80 miles an hour, going God knows where.”_

_James stiffened. “I was trying to get her away from that place. It—there's terrible things there.”_

_“What in God's name are you talking about?”_

_“Somebody shot him,” Laura remarked, “He needs to go to the hospital. See?” she pointed to his shoulder. “You can't keep him here.”_

_“Who shot you, Mr. Sunderland?”_

_“A-a guy,” James heart started thumping. They were thinking he was crazier by the minute. “Eddie. He.. He tried to kill me.”_

_“Who is this Eddie person? And where is he now?” the officer demanded._

_“Eddie? That tub of lard wouldn't hurt a fly. He couldn't. He's too scared.” Laura blurted._

_The policeman had had enough of their nonsensical gibberish. The man was obviously in shock, and the girl was too petulant to get any kind of cooperation from her._

_“We're gonna take you to the back, Mr. Sunderland. You can tell us what happened there.”_

_“James.” Laura called as he was being escorted away, hands clenched behind his back and shaking down to his very bones. He turned. The man pressed an outstretched palm over his back to keep him moving._

_“When are you coming back?”_

 

After a long bout of painful consideration, James had to swallow his frustration and let her stay. What else could he really do? He couldn't just boot her out on the street. Where else would she go?

Laura didn't mention anybody else who would be willing to take her in.

They had both went to the store and he made a copy of his key for her use. She clenched it with a wide smile and gave him a hug, as if they had just been married and bought a new house together.

Katelyn was never there when James helped Laura lug her stuff out to his car, so that made it a tad less awkward. He thought they must have arranged something, which meant, at the very least, they were being civil.

He could remember fights with Mary so bad that she would hurl his clothes and his CD's down the stairs. She even broke his stereo by bludgeoning it with a baseball bat. Most people didn't know she had in it her to be that spiteful, put perhaps that was a good thing.

And anyway, when they made up, they chose out a stereo together so that the next time they clashed, they could battle it out in court like normal people instead of destroying it outright.

All throughout the moving process, James tried to take his father's example and just let her tell her story when she felt it was the right time. Not to force it. It had took James more than a year to talk to Frank, but by God, at least it happened. He was sure Laura would open up sooner than that.

He only hoped the situation wasn't as dire as he was thinking.

 

Frank had been sleeping with the same bedsheets since the eighties. James couldn't believe it, but there they were, staring back at him, the same sheets that he had gotten from Aunt Something-Or-Other one dreary Christmas. The same faded red and green diamonds stitched into the fabric, and the permanent, red nail polish stain from a careless Thelma from long ago. The ends were beginning to thin from loss of stuffing and were tattered at the edges.

“I can't believe you still have this,” he remarked, holding it up to his nose. It smelled like she was missing, and with only one of their smells and no trace of the absent other, he felt his stomach sink.

“Of course I would have it.” Frank murmured, placing the returned letters back in his dresser drawer. “Doesn't smell like your Ma anymore, James. Just my old, tired backside.”

James dropped the covers and wiped his hands on his jeans. Frank laughed. His son could be funny when he wanted to.

“I've been meaning to ask you something,” he paused, closed the drawer, and looked at himself in the mirror. His liver-spotted skin and sparse hair didn't disturb him, but he solemnly accepted that one day he wouldn't be able to look through this mirror anymore. “I was wondering if you'd like to take up the apartments for me one day. If, God forbid, something happens.”

James went still. He shook his head. “Dad, you're fine.”

“That's not the point, son. You know as well as I do that I'm not gonna be here forever. But if that's a no, then just say that.”

Frank's son approached him and put a hand on his shoulder. “Alright, Dad. I'll take care of the apartments if anything happens.”

He grabbed the younger man's hands and squeezed them tight, their agreement secured.

“Good, good.”

“Oh, Dad.. Don't all teary over it. I just said I'd take care of it. I didn't say that we're going to Vegas or anything.”

Frank let out a hearty laugh and patted James on the back.

It could safely be said that their relationship was improving. Day by day, it got a little easier to interact with his father. There were no hard feelings on Frank's part—he was never one to hold a grudge, and James was grateful for it. Victoria commended him on his progress, and had even said that he was one step closer to getting his real life back. James wasn't all that sure that he would ever have his real life back again, but the thought of attaining something close to it filled him with a cautious faith.

Now that he thought about it, no one said that he couldn't have a life with Laura. Sure, she was an adult, and he hadn't had the chance to raise her as his own daughter as he had thought he would all those years ago, but he could make up for it now, couldn't he? He imagined Laura would drive him crazy, but a good kind of crazy. The kind that they would make up for in the next minute with a laugh about something totally unrelated. Just like with Mary, who was never angry at him too long. That is, before she got sick.

Victoria called him shortly thereafter as she promised, to discuss his new living situation. She wasn't as accepting as he hoped she would be. It took a long while to get her to stop ranting about how weird that sounded, an 18-year-old girl living with a 39 going on 40-year-old (he would be turning 40 on November 11th of that year).

Her contentions rested on the fact that James hadn't lived with another woman since his wife, and Laura, as a teenage girl, could overstep her boundaries and make a pass at him. Or worse— _he_ could overstep his boundaries and make a pass at her.

James had to listen to this in silence, as he couldn't shout at her in front of Frank. But what Victoria was worrying about was entirely preposterous. As much as it turned his stomach to rot, he'd have to grind his teeth until they met at his apartment. This was classic Victoria. Assuming the absolute worst and using his past instances of mental instability as a kind of head brace to keep him from doing anything she didn't approve of.

“She'll only be staying for a little while,” he protested, a little too high pitched, but hell, he could swear that he could barely hear himself think when Victoria was scolding him, “She's going to start looking for a new place as soon as possible.”

_“Ask her what her money situation is.”_ Victoria asserted, _“I'm sure that has something to do with it.”_

“I'll ask her when I get home. She usually comes back around 3 or 4 until her next class, which is at 6:30, I think.” James sighed.

“Alright, I'll see you later.”

James snapped his phone shut and almost bit his tongue. Victoria and her stupid worrying.

As it was his code of honor, Frank said nothing and pretended to be paying attention to something else.

Victoria closed the door behind her, her expression pensive. James was in the bathroom. The sink was running and she heard a little sigh. She walked past the door almost absently, pressing a curious finger against his bedroom door and watching with intense interest as the door slowly gave way. The light was still on, though it was dim because the bulb had a film of dust over it.

And there they still were. Her personal effects scattered like a bed of leaves on the ground. Laura had grown more comfortable in James' company than she initially thought. She had thought at first that Laura had merely been in a rush to get out the door because she'd overslept—but her books were still here. Her lip gloss and hair products were on the bed, near the mouth of her open book bag. The few boxes she had were already unpacked. Victoria opened the immediate drawer and saw her folded clothes neatly placed inside. It was official. Laura had moved in.

A year ago, James would have slammed the door in anyone's face if they ever proposed living with him.

James emerged, running his hands through his dark blond hair, which had begun to take on a dusty, brownish hue. His face, puffed up from constant stressing and an unhealthy deprivation of sleep, was now sallower than it usually was. Victoria could have guessed at the true heart of the issue, but really, he had too many demons to even begin to contend with. He looked so worn she was surprised he was standing.

As he caught sight of her, he blew a little air out of his mouth. “You really like to sneak up on me, huh?”

Victoria held up her shirt by its sleeve.

“I'm worried.”

“Why do you have Laura's shirt?”

“I'm hoping that this isn't as bad as I'm feeling.”

James stood there for a moment in a kind of arrested stupor, wanting to make an excuse, but being unable to until he found out what exactly Victoria was insinuating. Then, seeing the state of what should have been his own bedroom and seeing Victoria rub her disapproving thumb over the lace of Laura's shirt, realization dawned on him with a rousing anger and a wave of repulsion.

“You can't be serious. Just because her clothes are everywhere doesn't mean I've done anything. Why would you ever think I'm capable of that?”

“I don't know,” she said.

“Is it because I'm not dating anyone? I'm not going out.. Meeting with other women.. So you think I've stooped low enough to start preying on a young girl?”

Victoria stood silent.

“I can't believe this.” He turned around and headed in the opposite direction. He remembered, only a few years ago, he would punch the wall, even if it was the stone wall of a cell. He had broken his hand more than once in jail, so much so that his hand suffered a slight tremor, likely due to nerve damage. Despite all this abuse, his hand still itched to punch something—and if he hadn't learned to walk away, there was no telling what he might have done.

“You can't avoid this, James. She's living with you now, so you're going to see a lot more of me.”

“I hardly ever go into that room!”

James reminded Victoria of a child sometimes. Whenever he had his back turned to her, or whenever he obstinately pleaded his innocence in any situation, she knew she had to choose her words carefully. There were times that he forced her out because she had said something he really didn't want to hear.

“Is this what you really meant when you said that you were afraid of hurting her? Were you afraid that you would develop feelings for her?”

“You sound like an idiot,” James countered acidly. “You know that's not what I meant.”

Victoria went rigid. A minute passed of her standing there, an incredulous look on her face, until she snatched her purse and stormed to the door. But there she stopped, her hand resting thoughtfully on the doorknob. “This wouldn't solve anything, would it? It would just simmer and boil over if I left you like this.”

James crossed his arms, pressing his tongue to his cheek. He looked off to the side. “I don't even know what to say to you anymore. You're convinced that I see Laura as a replacement for Mary, aren't you?”

“I want to talk to Laura and get everything straight.”

The thought of Victoria and Laura meeting for the first time set him on edge. Was she going to accuse Laura of what she just accused James of? Of having an inappropriate relationship?

“Look, _Mom_ , I don't want you trying to intimidate her. I don't know what you think we're up to, but she's not like that at all.”

“I'm not going to try to intimidate her. I just want to know what this is all about. Isn't it strange to you that this girl, who you haven't seen in more than 10 years, suddenly tracks you down at the station one day, becomes your friend, and insists on staying the night almost all of the time?”

“She's having trouble with the friend she lives with, and she doesn't want to spend too much time at home because she wants to avoid getting into any more arguments. I've told you this. I don't want to force her to answer anything else until she's ready.”

“Why?”

“Because that's what my father would do.”

Victoria sighed and her shoulders slumped. “Listen, James.. I'm sorry we started off on the wrong foot here. You're doing good. You really are. You're opening up. But this is an 18 year old girl we're talking about. No matter where you met her and how you guys know each other, she's not your responsibility. And whatever she's running from.. Well, it's not your responsibility to save her from it.”

James palmed the back of his neck.

“You've got enough to deal with as it is. Living with someone isn't easy, and I don't think you're ready for that just yet. Make as many friends as you like, hang out with them, have a ball—but don't give every single one of them the shirt off your back.”

“Don't you think I have the same reservations? But she still needs _someone_. How can I just tell her to bug off?”

Victoria couldn't say anything that would console him.

He sat down on the edge of the table near the TV, and folded his hands in his lap.

“I think I should explain something to you.”

“Hm?”

“You remember Angela? The girl that never came back from Silent Hill?”

“Yes.”

“Well.. She was the same as Laura is now in a lot of ways. She never asked me for help, never told me to save her—because she knew it'd be too much to ask for. But she was crying out for help on the inside. And you know what I did? I walked away from her. I was too engrossed in my own misery to even begin to care about hers, and the last time I ever saw her, she had already made her decision. And I let her.”

“James..” Victoria shook her head. “That's not your fault.”

“I know I'm not the one who gave up. I'm not the one who pulled the trigger. But don't you see? I was the final person who proved to her that no help was coming. And I don't want to do that to anyone ever again. Haven't I done it enough?”

 

 

Later that night, Laura returned home from classes. She closed the door behind her, the strap of her book bag hanging from her shoulder and lazily chewing a piece of gum. She had circles under her eyes that James hadn't noticed until now.

“How was your day?” he murmured.

Laura smiled, “Oh, it was okay.” Her eyes trailed to the couch, where she saw a head of shiny black hair. “Hello.”

Victoria turned around and placed her arm on the top of the couch. “Hello. I'm Victoria. I'm sure James told you about me and how I check up on him and stuff.”

“Oh, yes.”

She set her bag on the floor. “I didn't mean to interrupt anything.”

“You didn't. Actually, I wanted to talk to you.”

Laura felt the urge to play with her fingers to quell her nerves, and Victoria wanted to scratch her face, only she didn't want it to look like she was nervous herself.

James prepared for a heated discussion.

“So I heard that you're having some problems with your friend, who you lived with until now. I'm sorry to hear that.”

Laura said nothing. James was expecting a scolding later on from Laura, as the last thing he thought she wanted was for someone else to know her business.

“Do you work, Laura?”

“Um, yeah.” she nodded quickly.

“Did you guys split the bills, then?”

“Yeah. We all had jobs.”

“James said that you have no family members currently alive.. Or, if you do, they don't know that you're alive or they might live too far away. But this is the issue: James just got out of prison a year ago, as I'm sure you know, and he is still..” Victoria made a crystal ball in her hands, rubbing it as if asking it for the right way to put this, “Trying to get everything off the ground, you know?”

Laura gave her a sidelong look, knowing exactly where this was going.

“So you're saying I can't stay here.”

James pressed his fingers into his temples. He had to say something.

“It's just that—”

“Laura, what she really means to say,” James glanced at Victoria, “Is that she doesn't recommend you stay here. Luckily for you, though, we're two different people with two different opinions, and Victoria can only control so much of what goes on in my life.

“If this is what you need, then you can stay. That's the end of it. Victoria doesn't trust me, so she'll be checking up on us periodically. She just wanted to let you know that she isn't a fan of the idea.”

Laura wanted to ask exactly what about the arrangement Victoria disagreed with, but remained silent. James, to his surprise, managed to leave his normally authoritative probation officer with no words in rebuttal. All that came out of her was a sigh of resignation.

“Laura's the daughter I never got to raise.” he said softly. “And she needs my help now. Just trust me on this.”

She nodded.

Victoria left soon after. Laura was still heated from the conversation, but she managed to keep most of her feelings to herself, save a comment here and there about how bossy Victoria was, or how she should mind her own business. Indeed, James agreed, but in the end, Victoria was only trying to steer James in the right direction. And though she drove him crazy a lot of the time, she helped him through a lot (or rather, forced him through a lot, but at least he got through it at all).

He had secretly thanked her for not bringing up the other thing.

“Laura, I know you're going through a rough patch. And I know things about you that she doesn't, so she doesn't understand as much as I do.”

“It's all because of that stupid evaluation.”

“My evaluation doesn't rest on you. It's how I deal with everything else.”

The mood in the house was pressing and dismal. James didn't want to admit it, but he was pretty sure it was all because of him. He infected a place with his very presence. His anger and his anxiety, or whatever he happened to be feeling at the time, would hang in the air like very still hooks, waiting to catch on something.

He hadn't spoken of Laura's parents before, and indeed, she never brought them up, which led him to believe that she either didn't remember them very well or hated them. Though she was a talkative person and loved to laugh, she revealed very little about herself. When he first asked her how her life had been these past 10 years they'd been apart, all she said was “Same, old, same old.” Only James didn't know what 'same old' entailed. Unremarkable? Filled to the brim with teenage drama and teenage hormones? It couldn't be any of those things. Not if you tried that hard to avoid it, it wasn't.

James tried to give himself something else to think about. He really did. He tidied up, he smoked a cigarette, he tried to get involved in the program he was fading in and out of, though he hadn't the slightest idea what was going on and who was who. Finally, it came up like a bubble in his esophagus. He couldn't be like his father just yet.

“Laura, I need to talk to you about something serious.”

Laura paused, and immediately her heart started beating.

“I know you don't have parents, but what about other family members?”

“Did you change your mind all of a sudden?”

James made an exasperated sigh. “I just wanted to know what other family you had. Any grandparents? Cousins, uncles?”

“No, I don't.” she said simply. “And even if I did, it's not like they'd care about me anyway.”

“Laura. I have the feeling that I'm not the first person you've had to live with because of problems at home.”

Then Laura did that thing again—when she bowed her head and her hair fell over her face. It was a graceful, sorrowful gesture, one that James was reluctant to admit he was fascinated with. Normally a bubbly girl, she could turn to a surly, troubled youth in a second. As if he had unlocked memories she had tried very hard to bury beneath a deceiving smile.

“I've never had problems at home. Because.. I've never really had a home.”

James nodded. “You.. were never adopted, were you?”

Laura swallowed, keeping her face hidden from view. He imagined she was tearing up right about now, but being prideful as she was, she'd never let him see it.

“I remember one night, I had a terrible nightmare. I can't remember the nightmare itself, but I was so shaken I couldn't sleep. My parents took me for a drive. Then there was a storm. The lightning struck a tree and it fell right on the windshield. My mother died instantly. My Dad was still alive, but the car crushed him from the waist down.” She tilted her head curiously, as if confused by her own memory. “He didn't scream when it happened. I heard him breathe very calmly, doing his best not to fidget and to stay very still. He was holding on to his last breaths as delicately as he could. He was gargling his own blood. He said to be a good girl and get out. So I went out and stood in the road. No one came until the next day.”

The clock on the wall ticked loudly, bringing it to their attention just how strangled and tense it had suddenly become. It was the only sound that reminded them that they weren't actually experiencing it. She spoke again.

“They took me to the hospital because I had caught pneumonia from the storm. I was there for weeks. I don't think they even knew what to do with me. Then I met Mary. She was everything I needed at that time. Kind, attentive, sympathetic. And she never grew tired of me. But then the doctors sent her home, and I had to go to the orphanage.

“That place was terrible. The adults were mean. The kids were unhappy. It was always cold at night. And I had trouble making friends. I didn't really belong anywhere. So I left.”

“How?”

“I found a glass cutter in one of the toolboxes that belonged to the maintenance man. I escaped through the window.

“I didn't know where Mary lived, but I kept thinking of the pictures she showed me. All I had to go by were her letters and the conversations we'd had in the hospital. I managed to get to Silent Hill, of course. I was feeling hopeful after we left together, but then you were arrested, and I was left with nowhere to turn again. I waited at the station for a little while, thinking you'd come back, but then the man said you were going to jail because they had found Mary in your car. I waited until the man turned his back on me, and I ran out.

I found the road a little while after, and I caught a man who was driving to Brahms. I begged him to take me with him, and we left.

“We lived together for a while, and I thought he could be my new dad, since they had taken you away. But whenever I asked him for anything, he wanted a kiss on the cheek and sweet words. When I grew older, he wanted kisses on the lips. Then one night, he went into my bedroom and he told me take off my nightgown. I said no, and he slapped me.”

The room was deadly still until she drew a breath and continued.

“I grabbed the lamp from my bedside drawer and threw it at him. He fell back and and I ran out of the house. I couldn't call the police because they would just send me back to the orphanage, so I had to sleep in the park for a few days. But then the cops found me, and I went back into state custody.

That was a little before the trial. You remember that I wouldn't testify at first? Then Stanley had a talk with me, and he scared me into thinking I'd lose you forever, so I told them everything. I showed them Mary's letter, which I thought I could use to show you weren't a bad person. But they convicted you anyway, and I went right back to that place.

I met Benny when I was 16. Katelyn had been living with him since she was 8. She said he was nice. So I went with them.”

“..Did he try to do the same thing to you?”

“No.” Laura smiled sadly. “He was a good guy. But when his long-time girlfriend left him a year later, he started drinking. He would yell at us and ground us for the stupidest reasons. Then one morning we found him face down on the floor, dead. He had spend almost all of his money on alcohol and drugs, and he was so behind on the mortgage that the house had to be foreclosed.

We spent our last days there in agony, because neither of us knew what to do. Then one night, I just decided to get in touch with Joseph. And what do you know? He said that you've been out for a year now. I managed to convince Katelyn to move to Ashfield with me, and we got by for a while. We got jobs, we saved up money to go to college. It was going okay. I would look for you everyday, but I never saw you anywhere. In the meantime, Katelyn got a boyfriend and he moved in. He was supposed to help us pay the bills. But then my hours were shortened, and Katelyn wasn't getting paid enough, and her boyfriend spent all his money on stupid things. The three of us started arguing all the time.”

She smiled at him. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her clear tears descended very slowly down her cheek. “Finally, I found you. You seemed like a nice guy. A bit worn out, but still a good guy. I didn't feel like pretending to be okay around Katelyn or her boyfriend, so I lied and said I forgot my key.

That day before we went to the fair, I really got into it with Katelyn and her stupid boyfriend. Katelyn took his side, of course, for whatever dumb reason, and they both forced me out.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Some step-sister you got there.”

While James had his back turned to her, she licked her dry lips, rubbing up her arms to quell the shaking that had overcome her while she laid out her troubled life for him to examine. Suddenly she found the deep seated shame she had always felt was melting away, blowing into nothing like the heads of a dandelion. What she had just told James were things anyone else would have to pay years to learn. But inside, he was the same as her. Shattered, with no illusions. Maybe that was why it came out in a rush like it did?

She felt like she had made a mess. But a necessary one.

James hardly noticed he was picking at his teeth with his fingernails, and his gums were just beginning to redden and bleed. He closed his eyes and sighed.

“What really made you want to come and find me?”

Neither of them were facing each other. Laura wiped her tears, James' hands fell silently on his lap. The clock's ticking faded into its normal, barely audible rhythm. The TV could be heard again.

“I thought you would understand. More than most.”


	9. Linger

_“Thank you for saving me, but.. I wish you hadn't. Even Mama said it. I_ deserved _what happened.”_

_James hadn't been through what she had, hadn't known what she had seen, but in that moment, he could tell that she hadn't passed the test. He knew that if he were in her situation, he probably would have given up a long time ago himself, but he had Mary. She was calling out to him, and she was here somewhere. But Angela? What had she to live for? She was damned, just like him, or probably even more damned than he was, and with nowhere to turn._

_He couldn't think of one intelligent thing to say to her._

_“No, Angela, that's wrong.”_

_Angela turned away and closed her eyes. She lifted her hands in front of her. “No.. Don't pity me.” she pleaded. “I'm not worth it.”_

_The fire was slowly climbing up the walls, yet strangely it consumed nothing. For the oddest reason, he didn't smell smoke, nor was he having any trouble breathing. It just got progressively hotter. James briefly considered taking off his jacket, but then that would be a stupid thing to do because his skin would probably burn. Or would it?_

_Angela gave him a sidelong look, then faced him again fully. Her scorned eyebrows pressed low on her darkening eyes, and the shadows cast on her face made her lips browner than they usually were._

_“Or maybe.. you think you can save me.”_

_Save you? He thought. How could he ever save her—when he barely had any intention of saving himself?_

_“Will you love me?” she pressed a hand to her cotton turtleneck sweater and glared at him from atop the stairs, as if issuing a challenge she was sure would result in his failure. “Take care of me? Heal_ all _my pain?”_

_James looked down, his hands at his side. No.. he couldn't._

“James?” Laura put her hand on his shoulder and gently shook him. He woke with a start, sweat beading his forehead. His heart leaped as Angela's agonized face slowly faded into Laura's beautiful, even complexion and bright, blue eyes. He was suddenly so glad she was here, that she really existed. He sighed and stifled his emotions.

“I'm sorry. You looked distressed.”

James found that he had fallen asleep sitting up on the couch while a movie was on.

He rubbed his eyes and cracked his back, setting himself straight and digging into an itch that begun to antagonize his thigh. He groaned. “Thanks.”

“So you really were having a nightmare?” Laura queried. “I hardly ever see you sleep, and I guess that's why.”

James didn't answer, only stared off into the distance to get his eyes accustomed to being awake and to kick start his numb brain into thinking coherently.

She turned away and changed the channel, pushing her hair back behind her ears.

“I'll be going to the campus soon, so I've been meaning to tell you that my phone's been shut off. I didn't have enough money to pay it, so.. That's why I haven't been answering.”

James looked at her, muttered something, and yawned.

“Hm?”

“I..” he sighed, running his fingers through his hair, “I didn't really say anything. Do you just want me to pay it for you then? Pay it back whenever?”

“Oh, no. You don't have to do that!”

“Well, you don't have the money and I need to communicate with you in case something comes up. I mean, you never know.” He gave a great yawn.

“But..” Laura shrugged her shoulders, wanting to decline in an attempt not to appear too eager to have phone service back again.

“Don't worry about it.” he made a dismissive hand gesture. “I hardly spend any of my money anyway. You see me go shopping?”

Laura shook her head.

“I think I can afford your cell phone bill.”

“So what do you do with your money, then?”

“I pay my bills, and let the rest sit if I can. Some goes to court fees for the investigation and everything. I'm still paying Joseph off, too.” His eyes narrowed, stating plainly, “Though, I wanna save up for a house or something.”

“So you really don't like to be cooped up in this apartment all the time, huh?” Laura had a triumphant smile on her face.

James shrugged.

He must want a universe that was really his own. A place where he could really escape from it all. Could she come with too, she wondered?

The question remained in her mind as she watched the television. She couldn't say how many times she had stared at the TV without really paying attention to it. At times like these, James would often fall asleep and she wouldn't notice until she asked him a question, only for it to go unanswered.

James was never a person who looked serene when he slept. He simply drifted into another painful world, the only difference from this one being he could actually cancel it all out when he woke up.

Laura glimpsed at him every now and then, watching his eyelids flutter, or lean slightly to the left, only to correct his posture when he found he was falling asleep. He fought rest like this every night, only he wouldn't admit it. Laura was a night owl herself. She wouldn't mind staying awake with him until it was time for him to go to work and for her to go to classes, and that's probably what he would prefer, too. Someone by his side to keep him from the nightmares. But she knew he would just lose the battle and fall asleep in an unnatural position, so to make it easier on him, she would just retreat to his room and try to lull herself to sleep with her dying iPod.

Although seeing that James had fallen asleep, and it was only 3 in the afternoon, she couldn't bring herself to wake him again. Instead she studied him with a fixation she could hardly explain.

His hair had a dirty, greasy sheen to it despite the fact that his hygiene was as regular as hers. His face was rustic and pale, and the circles under his eyes were more noticeable now that he was resting. She remembered a picture he had shown of him when he was younger—about 20 or 21. He had a tan, his hair was bright blond, and his bangs fell whimsically to the side because it was still the 80's. He was never the muscly type, but he looked robust none the less, full of life and good fortune. He had only just met Mary then, and they were still trying to figure out their feelings for each other. It was a time of anxious optimism—a time that they could seize the day, if they could just tell each other how they felt.

Those days were dead. Now, he looked like he had gone on long enough. He was what authors and TV dramas called 'a shadow of their former self'. That certainly was true of him. It looked like something was slowly being drained from his veins, and there was nothing she could do about it. Though physically being past all that had made his life a living hell, he was still in some sort of limbo where he had a boat and a lake to row across, but no oars and no idea of where to go.

Laura suddenly felt her heart swell with pity, so much so that she grew teary. She didn't want to cry in front of James, even if he was sleeping. She wasn't exactly a quiet crier. He would probably hear her small sobs and sniffles. And besides, he just didn't know how to react when she did. His misplaced attempts at consoling her consisted of getting her a glass of water to clear out her throat so she wouldn't hiccup between syllables, and staring at her stupidly because he was as good at making people feel better as a dog was walking on two legs.

At least he tried, which was more than she could say for a lot of people in her life.

The thought almost made her laugh. Outwardly, he was cynical and surly, but beneath that exterior, as Mary had said, he really was a sweet person. It's just been so long he probably forgot how to love someone again.

Laura slid out of her sandals and brought her legs up to her chest. Carefully, she crawled across the couch to where he sat, breathing steadily and with his arms loosely wrapped around himself. Testing out the waters, she grazed his hairs with her fingertips.

He didn't stir.

_“You don't understand,” he said, as he held her close._

That memory, so vivid now it felt like it was only a few days ago, made her shiver. She wanted to be held like that again. But if he ever knew.. he wouldn't touch her ever again.

She inched closer, one of her hands keeping her balance next to him while the other trailed a ghostly caress down his cheek. His hand lay open, palm up, the wounded one. The mark was slowly beginning to fade.

She placed her hand on top of his, rubbing her thumb on his wrist, feeling the blood pump through. It brought to mind the time he had said his mother slipped into a warm bath and opened her veins. Luckily enough, he wasn't the one who found her.

_“You don't get it.”_

Her head bowed, she squinted her eyes closed and tried to banish her painful thoughts. She had dreamed of someone like him coming along and blotting out her miseries—or at least someone who would be there if anything happened instead of just vanishing, like so many others.

She drew away and rested back on the other side of the couch, fearful that he had felt her touch.

No matter how it would appear to anyone else, this was how she felt. This... was this so wrong? Was that why it was doomed to remain hidden to anything but the watchful eye of Victoria, who apparently hadn't got her concerns across to James?

Or maybe he did know, and just didn't want to acknowledge it. If he felt the same way, would it be any less taboo?

_“I want you here.”_

Her heart started beating and she cleared her throat.

_“You're a part of me, too.”_

How can it feel this wrong?

She looked at him longingly and thought, _Never_.


	10. Promise

 

**1.**

Sometimes James had dreams of legs hanging from the ceiling.

No arms, no heads or faces to speak of. Only legs. He accepted that they spoke of his unsatisfied urges, his desire for sexual gratification. That was simple enough to understand. But he had thought that, once he left Silent Hill, these images would go away. It was a little depressing to face the fact that Silent Hill had changed his intended course from death to life with no real plan of action and still hadn't given him the mental peace he so desperately desired. Maybe that wasn't what it was even meant for anyway. In his letter to Cybil, he had said so.

He hadn't meant to live. All he wanted to do was to die in a place where he had once been happy, and by doing so, he hoped Mary would be satisfied. It now seemed Silent Hill's challenge had not been to die, but to dare to live.

There was no real law there, no explicit right or wrong. It wasn’t a place you could count on for a straight answer, or any answer at all. It could be a dreamland or it could be your hell. Maria wasn’t exactly what you’d call ‘the bad guy’, even given what he made her for—a beautiful creature to shroud him from the truth, something to preoccupy him with anything but what he had done. Even Silent Hill, the haven of illusion, had not made it so easy to forget—she’d had Mary’s face. And maybe Red Pyramid had a slither of good intention in mind when he fought him in the Bluecreek Apartments—perhaps by way of testing him.

_Do you really want to die? Is this what you really want?_

In his letter, from Maine to faraway California, he asked her all the questions he himself could formulate no answer to. Along with the ones that he knew already. If it still popped up now and then like the annoying apparition it was, if she still cried sometimes. Maybe it haunted her even more so than it did him. Somewhere inside, that was a small consolation.

He’d thrown around the idea of writing to Harry Mason's daughter. The last he heard of her, she was a student at a university and living with an older man—much like the situation between Laura and himself. But he decided there was no particular reason why she should care how he was holding up. She was out there living her own life. The last thing she needed was a reminder. As he and Cybil were both disillusioned adults seeking anything worth holding on to, he thought a message of common ground would be good for her.

James’ languid figure slumped against the couch, his arms folded, and the blue-white light of the TV cast shadows on him.

“So what do you want for dinner?” he asked Laura.

She shrugged. James expected that answer of her, and surfed through the channels until he paused at the Food Network. _Barefoot Contessa_ was on. She was making Eggplant Lasagna. James had dim memories of having eaten eggplant, most likely at a dinner held by one of Mary’s relatives. Her crazy uncle, maybe. He supposed, as a way of branching out of the everyday routine, he might just try his hand at cooking. This was especially appropriate because the dinner Bettie wanted to have had been given a date, and it would be this Friday. He would practice this eggplant thing today, and recreate it on Friday before the dinner. Then he'd be able to brag to Victoria about how he brought a home-made dish to his friend’s dinner. He just hoped they wouldn't get food poisoning.

They both headed for the kitchenette and murmured something about eating out again, but neither of them agreed with the idea, having eaten Pizza Hut and Papa John's and Awesome Wok nearly every night in the name of sheer laziness. Laura looked around with saintly blue eyes and commented about various things in the cabinets, shoving cans this way and that, shaking her head and considering James’ input.

“What should we make?” he scrutinized a can of tomato sauce in his hand. Old Newman's. He thought about the eggplant again. “Or we could just make what that lady’s making...” He snatched out the cookbook from an old, underused drawer. Laura peered over at it.

“Well, what is it?”

James raised his brows, “Eggplant lasagna.”

Feeling decidedly picky, Laura murmured, “Yuck.”

“Eggplants are good for you.”

“How can you have _eggplant_ lasagna?” Laura wrinkled her nose in distaste. “I've never heard of that before in my life, to be honest.”

“Lasagna just means layers, so it can apply to anything. This is just replacing it with eggplant instead of meat. Save a cow.”

“You’re funny,” she smiled.

“So I've been told,” he answered, his eyes scanning the ingredients.

“Alright, let's start then.” Now that Laura was in a playful mood, she opened the cabinets. “What do we need?”

He read off, “It says '2 large eggplants, 2 tablespoons of olive oil, 2 garlic cloves, minced...”

“We don't have any of those things.”

“I guess it’s time to go grocery shopping, then.”

After a trip to Wal-Mart that took longer than expected despite the short list of things they needed, James and Laura returned with a bag in each of their hands. While they were out, they ended up getting some more things for the house, such as a new fan to replace the recently broken one that usually sat on James' table in front of him while he slept, and some Chips Ahoy and Oreos with a gallon of milk.

He set the oven to 400 degrees Fahrenheit, took out the skillet and sliced the eggplants lengthwise with as much precision as he could muster, being unaccustomed to dealing with food. He spread oil on the slices with a paintbrush and seasoned them with pepper and salt. He then placed them on the skillet. Laura had learned by now that eggplant didn't taste that bad, and was actually similar to a banana, except sweeter.

She filtered through the thoroughly disorganized cans while the sizzling slices filled the kitchenette with the sweet aroma of oil.

Finally, she found the mushroom can, which had been buried deep in there.

James absently handed her the can opener and closed the drawer, absorbed in the book. “Now it says to add the garlic and thyme and sauté for seven minutes.”

She snatched out a large bowl in response.

“After that you have to—”

“One thing at a time!” she reminded him.

Laura proposed that cooking warranted music, so James found the old CD player from when he was still married (that Frank had preserved for some reason) and plugged it in the outlet above the counter top. Then he remembered that he had no CD's. “That's alright,” Laura said, “CD's are on their way out, anyway. I'll just plug in my MP3 player.”

James sheepishly admitted to Laura, despite her shock, that he didn't even have a clear idea of what an MP3 player was. “In my day, it was record players and then stereo systems.”

“Record players?” she huffed. “Didn't they use those in the 1920's or something?”

“People used record players up until the 80's. I remember.”

“I didn't see anyone use a record player.”

“You were probably too young to remember. You were born in '87, right?”

“Eighty-six,” she corrected. “You're a dinosaur compared to me.”

He stuck out his tongue, which only earned him a playful snicker. Laura said she would flip the slices when the time came, so he had an opportunity to find something before she could put on her loud, obnoxious pop music. After five minutes of searching, he only found a caseless, scratched-up copy of Nirvana's _Nevermind_ under a dog-eared phone book and _Dizzy Up the Girl_ by the Goo Goo Dolls, a band he'd been mildly obsessed with ever since seeing scattered scenes of “Iris” playing on the small TV in the prison ward's office. He could still see Johnny Rzeznik sliding over from the telescope to the window, or spinning around wildly in his wheeled reclining chair, high in the lighthouse.

_And I don’t want the world to see me_

_‘Cause I don’t think that they’d understand.._

“So what did you find?”

“Nirvana and this.” he showed her the other album with a little pride, “This one actually has a case.”

“It has a big crack in it, though.” she teased.

He opened the case and took out the CD, to which Laura protested, “But aren't they a little dark?”

“The Goo Goo Dolls? I wouldn't call them dark. Depeche Mode and The Cure are dark.”

“I don't feel like being depressed.”

“They're not depressing. There’s lots of happy songs on here, like ‘Slide’.” He decided not to remind her that 'Iris' and 'Acoustic #3' were on the same album.

“And how does that go?”

He groaned, summoning his coarse singing voice. “Yeeaah, I'm gonna let it slide..” he fought his inept memory for the words, deciding on the chorus, “Put your arms around me; what you feel is what you are and what you are is beautiful..”

“You wanna get married, or run away..” she sang in recognition.

He closed the case and rubbed his shirt on the Nirvana CD. He popped it in and found that all the others skipped or just wouldn't play except “Lithium”, and he turned to look at her. “Are you checking the..?”

“Oh!” Laura exclaimed, grabbing the handle of the pan. “Ah, they're a little burnt.”

“I think it's time to flip them now.”

She turned them gingerly. “Sorry 'bout that.”

“ _..I like it, I'm not gonna crack; I miss you, I'm not gonna crack; I love you, I'm not gonna crack; I killed you, I'm not gonna crack..”_

James grew uncomfortable and turned it off, even though Laura was getting into Cobain's agonized vocals. “Hey, what'd you do that for?”

“It's messed up. Only plays one song.”

James took the mantle while Laura tried to find something happy and upbeat, only to realize that she actually had a lot of songs that complained about infidelity and teenage drama. Deciding he wouldn't like Green Day, Kelly Clarkson or Natalie Imbruglia, she skipped to the first uplifting thing she could find, which happened to be “Get Your Freak On” by Missy Elliot. A tad embarrassed, Laura decided to occupy herself with cooking rather than look at James' amused face.

Finally, she gave up. “This is stupid, isn't it?”

“No, I like her.” he stifled a laugh. “She's very animated.”

They threw suggestions back and forth, and James felt older and older the more he suggested. From The Doors to Jimi Hendrix to The Cranberries, a group that even she should have been familiar with, it was no longer a contest. He could now say that he'd fallen far behind popular culture. Though one couldn't blame him, seeing as he had been locked in a cold cell for the whole of the 90's. He hadn't even cared about what was going on in the outside world until Laura showed up with her excited talk of one day having a cell phone that could actually access the internet, a pink colored iPod (James only thought of black figures dancing to multi-colored backdrops), and all of _America’s Top Model_ on DVD (whatever the hell _that_ was).

The heat hit his face as he popped the newly layered meal into the oven, looking like a wife with his green oven mitts. “My friend Bettie from work invited me to dinner with her husband and some other people, so I’m going to cook this again on that day.”

“I didn’t think you talked to anyone at work.”

He glimpsed at her.

“No offense.” she shrugged. “I just never hear you bring anyone up.”

“I guess they're more acquaintances, then. But getting to know people better is something Victoria would endorse, and it would help me with my already rusty social skills. I guess you can just entertain yourself here while I'm gone.”

Laura wasn’t keen on the idea of being alone but didn't voice this. She only gave a submissive nod.

It unnerved her to think that she honestly didn't want James to go to the dinner. If he did, he would be focusing on other people and not her. He would be away while she sat here, alone with her own thoughts. He might even like someone at work, and might only be going because they were. She shoved the thought into the back of her mind and breathed through her nose. She hadn't realized she was boring a hole into the floor with her concentrated stare until James pointed it out.

“You alright?”

“Yeah.”

His eyes trailed from the oven to the dirty dishes, and slowly, a memory began to appear, like an old rerun.

_She coughed again. “God..” she struggled to utter, reaching for her husband. “James.”_

_He stood up, his hands still wrapped around hers. “James. Get me some—” Another burdensome cough tore through her and forced her back against the headstand again. “Dammit..”_

_He didn't ask any questions. Her main needs were water, blankets, and massages. As of now, it was harder to get her to digest solidified foods, so James switched to soup. Most days it was just tomato soup—it was easier that way. No cubes of chicken, rice, or celery to get lodged in her throat and make her choke. “I'll get you some more soup, hon,” he said._

_That familiar look of discontent spread across her features, but he ignored it and left to the kitchen. The act of making soup afforded him a rare interlude of mental peace. It made him feel like his father, making him soup while his child self rested in bed with the welcome feeling of his mother's warm hand on his forehead._

_The pot was dirty from yesterday's serving. The water splashed on the pan and washed away the red residue from the steel. The noise of dishes clanking often made the days easier to bear, whereas the silence made time stagnant, and Mary's life even more unpredictable. Would she still be awake when he prepared her supper? Or would he have to wipe the blood off her mouth and read her to fitful sleep with passages from Corinthians again?_

 

**2.**

That Friday, with intense fear and insecurity scouring his insides, James knocked on the door and was let in by an exuberant Bettie with widespread arms.

“Hey, honey!”

It was strange that she called him honey, considering that she probably called both her husband and her children that too. Her shiny, meticulous weave was plastered against her smooth, dark head, the curls perfect and hardened. Everything in her bounced when she moved. She led him around with the sway of her hips, her outstretched fingers as she pointed this way and that, showing him what the others had brought as if she were directing traffic. She hadn't even noticed his own dish, so James just placed it where all the other food was. It reminded him of a table of birthday presents, where his was the least noticeable and barely a contribution.

James spotted her husband across the living room, dealing with the food.

Her husband had been a hard hitter, dealing drugs and consuming them, and he beat her and her children into the ground in the years before her job at the post office. She hadn't been ashamed to relate that to James on the first day they met. And still here she stood, happily ignoring his awkwardness and laughing at every mild comment that came her way. Her grey-faced husband, sobered by age and many stints in jail, said low, humble things like, “Gimme a hand here, baby,” as he heaved a heavy bowl of mash potatoes to the kitchen counter. James almost pitied him, but then again, it had been a long while since he pitied anyone but himself.

Two dark children ran around him like spinning planets. One of them had the small, egg shaped head of his mother, his head spotted with sparse black hair. He made exaggerated airplane noises and rode his hard plastic plane up James' arm and was up to his shoulder when Bettie shouted at him to leave James alone. James followed the kid with a smile. The girl stared at him as any black child who was very seldom in the company of white adults. Not with condescension, but blank faced curiosity. She was probably expecting only her boisterous relatives.

“What's your name?” she queried, twisting her upper body shyly from side to side.

“James.”

She nodded and averted her eyes to the ground. “Keisha.”

He nodded too.

“James!” Elise shook his shoulder. She had a bright orange cardigan that did not quite reach her waist, like his shameless, imaginary Maria, and a thin black pencil skirt. No one had the frankness to tell her that she looked like a kindergarten teacher dressed up for Halloween, but he suspected it wouldn't have mattered anyway. She didn't seem like a person who considered what others thought about her, and for some reason, he found that attractive.

“How are you?” he asked.

“Good. I'm glad you made it to the dinner. Bettie was afraid you wouldn't come.”

“Was she?”

James smiled, often times the only thing he could manage by way of friendliness.

Both the dining room table and the picnic table, which was dragged in by Bettie's husband from the airy veranda, were placed together. Elise set the table with a great smile and joy in her duty.

Seeing Elise in this state of careless mirth set his stomach awash with doubt. James now knew he could never date her—she was far too happy for his outlook, and she was too pretty for an old bag like him. He could see a long-term relationship with her breed contempt. He could see himself belittling her for her choice in attire, or her belittling him for his grumpiness. Hell, Laura did that every day.

He'd like to believe that you never know until you try, but his own vision of it convinced him of the futility of anything he could ever have with Elise.

He had difficulty understanding happy people even in his days with Mary. Sometimes he hated them, giving them sneers and roll of the eyes, and other times he just sat by and watched them enjoy their own lives with a calm numbness. Mary had been one of these people. They were exact opposites, but her smile was a spectacle that he loved to watch even though he often didn’t follow suit.

 

 

**3.**

James walked down the metal steps and onto the platform of South Ashfield Station. The hoboes rested in desolate corners, wearing all their clothes though the heat was next to unbearable. Between the columns, he could see the plain faces of men and women of all ages, hopping on and hopping off. The weight of the food he’d eaten making him sleepy, he nevertheless resolved to find something for Laura to eat tonight.

On the way, he was sidetracked by a few finds. The first being St. Jerome's, where Mary had wasted away her days staring out at the window and wishing her husband would visit her, knowing full well that she'd always say something to make him regret it. Mary had the kind of personality that appreciated the pain of others when she was in pain herself. James wished he could have summoned the gall to be a bastard for once and call her out on that—or at least stop her in the middle of one of her many “dying” rants.

He wondered if Rachel, the nurse in the letter, still worked here. He wouldn't remember what she looked like—it had been years since he interacted with her, and they had only spoken a few words to each other at best. Mary had been infamous for kicking Rachel out of her room as much as James, Frank, and even her own relatives.

Then there was the bar. It stared at him down the street like the distant call from an old friend. He never made any friends there—only sat at the stool and stared at the bottles of various sizes on the shelf, taking large swigs and watching the bartender meander with the common folk. They all knew him there in those days. Since he did nothing but sit there at the stool and refuse to socialize, they called him “Lame James”. He was nothing but a minor spectacle—or specter, more like. Maybe they wondered where he was every now and then. _“Where's Lame James? He used to come here every night.”_

Located conveniently down the same street was an old haunt—the gaunt and vampiric _Blue Joy_ , a place that had him shivering in his seat as an aching beauty lifted her thigh onto his lap and let her hair cascade down his face and neck. He'd actually had many conversations with the girl outside of work; she was a good girl, really—she was just living on her own and needed to pay tuition. She had an unusual name he couldn't bring to mind now. It swam in the back of his head, along with words like it—he kept thinking _Autumn, yeah, she was named after a season or a month_.

He would watch her come in at night, parked on the opposite end of the street like a shameful ghost. In the wintertime, the flaps of her designer trench coat (the only one she had to his knowledge) would blow back and forth like the tail of a goldfish, and her little toes, exposed to the cold by her spider web stilettos, were squished together, pink at the ends and white as you trailed your eyes up her legs. He remembered she spoke of things like a disillusioned old man, a thought that made him smile. And he'd say, with his usual degree of awkwardness, “But you're so beautiful, you shouldn't have to go through this..”

_But you're so pretty. But you're so beautiful._ He had said this to her many times, and they all just went through her. _Ah, what do you know?_ She probably thought. _You're just an old pervert._

What was so beautiful about something normally innocent being sensuous and dark spirited? He wondered.

It was then that the stripper's visage dissolved into Laura's, and he again remembered why he was here. On a whim, he walked into _Tara's Treats_. The lighted display case housed those sugared croissants that Mary used to like. Next to them were large cookies, looking more like plastic than actual cookies, and a panorama of other things that probably should have been sold a few days ago.

“Can I help you?” a girl with an apron and high pony tail asked.

“Yeah, can I have those croissants there and that pie?”

“Oh, just to let you know, those have peach filling in them.”

Thinking that Laura might have an aversion to peach filling, he asked, “What other flavors are there?”

“We have cherry and apple.”

“I’d like apple, then.”

“What kind of pie, sir? We have cherry, blueberry, raspberry, lemon, apple, peach, pumpkin and apricot.” She said this as if she’d rehearsed it many times.

“Pumpkin.”

The woman disappeared behind the door and came back with the pumpkin pie wrapped in white paper. “It comes with whip cream already on it. That okay?”

“Saves me money.”

She laughed and set the pie on the table, then grabbed the tongs and fished out the croissants, putting them in a plastic container and snapping the lid closed. “Alright, that'll be 8.79. Credit or debit?”

“Debit,” handing her his card, he thought that he really ought to be less surly. It obviously wasn’t doing its job if people just thought he was funny.

“Okay, thank you very much,” she handed the bag to him and saw him go with a smile on her face, her elbows resting on the counter top as he left.

 

 

**4.**

James came home half an hour later than he said he would due to his little rendezvous around Ashfield. Rather painful sightseeing, he would say. The keys clinked on the marble tabletop and he stretched, letting out a yawn. “I got us some dessert from...Tara's Treats, was it? Have you ever been there?”

“Yeah, I know that place. Katelyn used to work there.”

James now felt bad for ever bringing it up, but then again, how would he have known? He hoped the girl he saw wasn't a friend of Katelyn’s or anything. A few moments passed before he realized that Laura hadn’t turned around to acknowledge him.

“Are you ok?” James forgot what he meant to do and approached her instead, stopping at the back of the couch. She nodded, but still didn’t turn around.

“You're kind of scaring me.” he poked at her shoulder and she recoiled. He could see the bone peeking through the skin, looking like a knob. Encircling the couch, he finally saw that she looked uncomfortable.

“I've got to tell you something.” she said, bringing her gaze to his chest. She could have looked him in the eyes, but chose not to. James' worrying only increased.

“Well, what the hell is it?” he stepped forward, “Say something.”

“It's crazy.”

He sat down next to her, their knees nearly bumping into each other. Somehow he got the feeling that she wouldn't act normal unless he shook her out of it. Obviously that would be too rude, so he just stared at her until she decided to respond. She looked unsure of what she intended to say, almost as if she were making a difficult decision.

“Promise not to be angry with me.”

“I won’t be.”

He regretted it almost as soon as he said it.

“I think I.. I love you.”

He was hardly aware that he had his mouth open, and that he had gone very still, stuck on her eyes like he hit a fork in the road.

“What?”

Laura had trouble letting it escape again. “I think I..”

“What do you mean? You _love_ me?”

Laura’s mind drew a blank and her throat went stale.

“What does that _mean_ , Laura?”

Between being disgusted with himself for ever letting this happen, and being disgusted with her for her poor taste, all the things that he wanted to scream at her lodged into his throat and became harder to discern.

“It means.. Just that.”

Despite this, his heart didn't physically react. It remained cold, unaffected. Or at least pretending not to be bothered. It was the same with Maria. He had tried to pretend not be fazed by her backhanded comments or her unsettling volatility. This was different, though. She wasn't Maria.

“No you don't, Laura.” he said quietly. “You don't love me.”

The rims of her eyes appeared to redden in an instant, and before he knew it, a tear fell down her cheek. She knew what he was thinking. He was thinking it was the silliest thing he’d ever heard. “I do.”

James chuckled warily, teetering toward mild annoyance and trying to be calm about this, as if he were trying to reason with a stubborn child. “You don't have any idea what love is. You've never felt it.”

“I know it's crazy.. But I can't help it. I know what I'm feeling.”

Laura reached over to him, only for James to shove her away. She fell back onto the couch as he stood up and clenched his fists. “Love is not a fluttery feeling. It's not all blushes and smiles. Love is what you feel when life without someone is only days and hours that go on forever!”

Still splayed back against the armrest, she stared up at him with stifled desperation, her teary lashes slick and her cheeks blotted with red, muted for the moment by the air that strangled any of her responses.

“Laura.. You don't need me or my baggage. You're only saying this because you think you can fix me.”

He closed his eyes and turned his head as if he could hardly bear to say what he was saying. “Laura. I am _thirty-nine_ years old. You're 18. You're still a kid, and I'm old enough to be your _father_.”

“It doesn't matter,” she pleaded.

“Don't give me that! Need I remind you that I killed my wife? That I've wanted to die myself for years? If you love me, as you say you do, you have to accept that this is who I am, and I’m never changing. I'm not going to stop smoking for you, and as soon as my probation ends I'm gonna get plastered and walk around in my boxer shorts while watching porn. I'm gonna start hitting the strip clubs again too. Trust me, you'll fall out of love fast.”

Laura scoffed timorously. “You can be such a bastard when you're trying to lie.”

“What’re you trying to say?”

“Don't kid yourself. You haven't been with anyone in a long time, and this is what I'm trying to give you. I know about what you did to Mary. And I _forgive_ you. I know everything about you, James. All the things you keep hidden from everyone else. You'll never have to explain anything to me, or feel…like a freak.”

_I am, if you want me to be._

He struggled not to tremble. She was no Mary. Nor would she ever be.

 “It'll never work with anyone else—”

“Damn it, do you even know what the hell you’re saying!” he burst, unable to hold it in any longer. Laura stopped mid-sentence. Anything she wanted to say dissolved on her tongue. The apex of his anger having been reached, he resigned into defeat. Yelling would only hurt Laura more.

“Laura, this can't happen. Victoria tried to warn me about this, but I didn’t want to listen to her. I thought you needed help. Look—it's only natural that you would grow feelings toward someone who knows pain like I do, who listens to you, and tries to help you, but that’s as far as it should go.”

Laura’s head bowed shamefully.

James paused, sighing. “I'd be a lousy lover, anyway.”

His attempt at humor missed utterly. Laura couldn’t look at him anymore.

James now felt the scathing claws of indecision. He couldn't just sit next to her, turn on the TV and pretend this hadn't happened. And walking out would just be immature. He felt like his heart was being pushed through a small space. He wanted to say something, anything to blot out this shame, but no word he could think of could be put to any good use. Laura wouldn’t humor him by replying, anyhow. She only sat there, biting back more horrible tears and desperately wanting to scream something obscene at him. But how would it help?

She was such a fool. She felt like just caving in on herself and disappearing into a dark crevice. The very feeling of James staring at her back was enough to make her ache with embarrassment.

He went to the kitchen and tried to start up some coffee, albeit quietly. What he would do after that, he wasn't sure, but that fact that he was making coffee was preferable to watching Laura's helplessly frozen stature.

What were they both to do? He thought. _We pitiful people._

For whatever reason—perhaps the uncanny sadism of life that loved to lie in wait for times like these—his phone rang, like slapping the hard surface of the water to break the tension. 'Hello Motto' was the last thing either of them wanted to hear, so he opened his phone and tried to be snappish. “What?”

Victoria was breathing fast. “James. You’ve got to get dressed. Get ready now.”

“What happened?” James was already feeling irritated at the sound of rushing into presentable clothes and having to even speak to Laura again after an encounter like this, even if it was to say that he had to go and he'd be back later. Being back later would only imply that this discussion had to continue, which already had his stomach in knots.

She paused. “It's Frank. He's in the hospital.”

 

 

**5.**

The whiteness of this place was blinding. The linoleum floors, the lines of florescent tubes, the sterilized smell. A hallway stretched out in front of him. He hated hallways too. You never knew what was waiting for you at the other side of the door. He passed one solitary bench, then two, and tried to remind himself that that town was at least a good 35 miles off. But after Silent Hill, public places and simple objects were a matter of phobia. From the occasional foggy morning, a shadow along the wall to the sight of a flashbulb going out, the memories would flood back as if he’d only just got back a few days ago.

To this day he still couldn't walk in the open street past a row of parked cars, for fear that something might come skittering out from underneath and knock him over. He itched for a feel of a steel pipe in hand. He’d learned that even the most rudimentary weapon could inflict a good amount of damage if it were blunt. Of course the desire for such a thing was utterly silly. It was all his imagination. The sounds of rustling papers and fast paced feet were putting him on edge.

Laura could feel the aura of anxiety James was giving off. His eyes were traveling everywhere without really moving. The actions of every person were accounted for in some way. He was paying special attention to the nurses. Though they didn't have caps and weren't as scantily dressed as his shapely, convulsing dream-women, they were nurses still, even in their pale green, unflattering scrubs. She began to wonder if he were really seeing them in the same way she was.

Tired of pretending to watch Spongebob and thinking about James’ mental condition, Laura went to the reception desk and asked about Frank.

“You're gonna have to wait,” she said, not looking up from her papers. Laura huffed and returned to her seat.

Dreadfully hoping he wouldn't fall off the edge of reality, or have a sudden headache and find that he was in a new one, he turned to Laura to make sure they were both really here.

 “..What did she say?”

“She said we have to wait.” she fitfully rested her chin in the cup of her hand. “I doubt she even knows who we're here for.”

Laura was acting like her normal self. She wasn’t playing the hush-up game or putting on the shameful, quiet act. It made this affair seem just a bit more manageable. Unknown to her, the whole confession was still explicitly on his mind as much as this hospital or Frank was; he didn't care so much for what Victoria would think anymore so much as what it meant for the both of them.

Victoria, who had been forgotten until this moment, was on the phone with someone, hushing the conversation as if the sound of her voice would compromise James' ability to deal.

An hour passed, maybe two. Laura was growing sleepy. James' shoulder was looking very attractive right now, but he was hunched over with his hands interlocked together, as if they were trying to comfort each other, and the same intense fixation remained. He wasn't looking at the wall but through the wall, trying to imagine where Frank was. Thinking of him connected to a respirator, the image of the banana bag near his bed, his hands handcuffed to the rails. A broken vase. Wait—Thelma had been handcuffed, not his father. The vase—that was Mary’s vase. She’d hated it so much she broke it, right in front of James’ horrified eyes. These images of his loved ones’ hospitalization often blurred into each other, so intimate with him and so hated. Perhaps he hated hospitals more than any other public building he could think of.

The nurse finally called them to the desk and to their surprise revealed that Frank was stable and coherent, allowing him to have visitors. James’ thoughts were running wild with what possible ailment had snuck up on his father as they searched the ward. Laura and Victoria focused on keeping up.

When they reached Frank’s room, the curtain shrouded everything except the floor. He pulled it back, fearful of what he might see.

Frank wasn’t attached to a respirator, making James sigh in relief. The portion from the top of his forehead and over his left ear was wrapped in bandages. He looked like a vegetable with still, open eyes until he spoke. “James.”

“What happened?”

Frank drew in some air. “I fell.”

“And? Where?” his son pressed.

“And I cracked my head open. It happened on one of the staircases. I don't remember what I was doing at the time.”

“In the apartments?”

“Yeah.”

Frank looked to Victoria and smirked. “Your girlfriend?”

“Please,” James answered before Victoria could even get a syllable in. She playfully scoffed.

“My name’s Victoria,” she shook Frank's hand, “I'm his parole officer.”

“That must be fun,” Frank teased. James was still looking worried and sullen, so Frank smiled at him. “Don't worry. I can count backwards from ten and I know that 2 plus 2 equals 4.”

He noticed Laura at the end of the room, her arms around herself.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Laura,” she murmured. “My name's Laura. I’m James’ roommate.”

If James or Victoria had any objections to the term ‘roommate’, they didn’t disclose it.

James intended to stay for as long as the visiting hours would allow, painfully paranoid that this could actually be the first of many hospital visits to go. His father’s mortality, a subject he’d managed to force into the back of his head up until this point, was pricking his skin and already torturing his heart with the thought of a loss he did not yet experience. It felt nearly the same as when, all those years ago, he had sat at Mary’s bedside, acutely aware that she could go any day, any hour, any minute, and there was always a chance that he would not be there when it happened. Strangely enough, that ended up being one of the reasons, in the tangled yarn-ball of motives he had, for killing her. It had all made sense to his slushy, erratic mind at the time. He didn’t want to contemplate the sense it made, if any, right now.

So the hours passed in relative silence, slow for Victoria and even slower for Laura, but the length of time went unnoticed by James. Time always passed quickly when he thought of these things, and he didn’t stop to consider that maybe Victoria and Laura might be bored.

Though she could hardly keep herself from falling asleep on the chair by Frank’s bedside, Laura knew it was better she was here than at home. After all, it would be pretty callous to watch _Seinfeld_ while Frank was here, wearing a papery hospital gown that didn’t care to cover his backside and stuck to a heart monitor. Besides, she wasn’t only here for Frank; she was here for James too. In her mind glimmered a faint hope that this would make him see that she really was serious about loving him, that she really did know what it was to feel it. Even if her feelings would never be reciprocated, she wanted James to know that she would be there for him regardless.

It would be an awkward few days after this.

Laura glanced furtively at Victoria, who was caught looking at her phone. With Frank asleep and James on another planet, she had no choice but to close her eyes and try to drift off somewhere where she didn’t have to think.

Just then, the curtain was pulled cautiously back and the head of a young man peeked through. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, “We… We heard that he fell. Is he okay?”

“Who are you?” Victoria asked.

The man stepped into the room to reveal himself fully, along with a pregnant woman they only could assume was his wife or girlfriend.

“Oh, uh, sorry,” he managed awkwardly, “My name’s Henry, and this is my fiancé, Eileen. We’re friends with Frank.”

The man had a tousled head of sandy brown hair that shadowed his eyes, wearing a formal collared shirt and jeans. The woman, on the other hand, had on a loose fitting maternity dress with bell bottom jeans—it seemed at this point she was so preoccupied with lugging her unborn cargo that it hardly mattered to her what she threw on. He’d never seen the guy before. But why was this woman so familiar?

Eileen kept glancing at James, smiling, expecting his recognition, but the flashbulb wasn’t going off—just flickering stupidly.

“I know I’ve seen you before..” James leaned over in his chair, gripping the sides and staring into Eileen’s face. “Though it isn’t registering right now.”

Eileen broke into a small laugh. “I’m the woman from the subway train. You know, the one you wanted to walk home because it was dangerous?”

Henry quirked a brow. So Eileen met Frank’s son before?

“Oh! I’m so sorry! I’m terrible with faces—you can ask her, here,” he pointed to Laura, who waved to them nervously with a stiff smile, “She’s an old friend of mine.. One I hadn’t seen in years until just recently, and her face didn’t click right away either.”

“You’re forgiven,” Eileen said warmly.

Victoria stood to gently prod Frank back into wakefulness. “You have visitors. Henry and Eileen.”

“How are you, Frank? Sorry to wake you,” Henry approached the edge of the gurney.

“I’m good, actually. I feel better.” His tired head rolled over in James’ direction. “I don’t think you’ve met Henry before. Do you know him?”

“No, but I know his fiancé.”

“How ‘bout that. Small world.” Frank smiled.

Victoria gave up her seat so Eileen could sit. They went from discussing Frank’s accident, and then gradually fell into normal conversation. It intrigued James that Henry wasn’t much of a talker at all—he rarely contributed to anything other a whisper in Eileen’s ear, and would only answer questions that were directed at him specifically. He kept one hand wrapped around Eileen’s shoulder and the other perched on her bulbous stomach, rubbing it every now and again with his thumb. Just like James, he preferred listening to speaking.

Eight o’ clock rolled around, announcing the end of visiting hours. As much as James loved his father and wanted to be there for him, he had to admit that his hatred of hospitals could no longer be ignored and that he was happy, for the most part, to be heading home. Laura kept her distance behind him as they exited the ward, her insides squirming like centipedes.

Outside the hospital, James scanned the parking lot and wondered where he’d parked. Henry came up behind him and said, “Glad to be out of there, huh?”

James kind of gaped at him, unsure what to say, and Henry corrected himself. “I mean.. You don’t like that place either, do you?”

“..Not really.”

He nodded. Eileen didn’t respond, staring somewhere into space. Perhaps she was trying to remember where they parked as well.

“It’s hard not to associate it with.. Where you’ve been before.” Henry looked down, cautious to reveal more—the name of that eerie town that could make David Lynch’s dreams look like Sesame Street. He was well aware that James had been to Silent Hill, and the fact that he never discussed it with Frank was more than enough evidence as to the nature of the experience.

“Do you still have nightmares?” James suddenly asked.

“Yes.”

He nodded. “Glad I’m not the only one. I mean, not saying that I’m glad that you have nightmares or anything..” James shoulders slumped in embarrassment and he gave a goofy, apologetic grin. Henry, cursed with the same gracelessness in social situations, instantly forgave it.

“So how do you manage?”

James had to think about this. “I think.. It’s important not to forget what you have. It’s so easy to focus on the memories. They knock at the back of my head all the time. But if you have someone to lean on, it’s easier. Took me a while to figure that out.”

Laura looked up, her heart thumping temporarily out of tune. James smiled at her and placed his hand on her shoulder. _It’s okay_ , he seemed to be saying.

She smiled, too. Just because.. It _would_ be okay.

 

 

**6.**

He watched the life outside his window, meditative.

_Dear Mr. Sunderland_

_I’m doing well. Even though I have the police up my ass, I’m not being indicted for anything, so you don’t need to worry about that. You can imagine how much they listened to what I told them. They were throwing around words like ‘dementia’ and ‘psychotic break’. At this point, I’m done arguing with them. After all the time that’s passed, I doubt it matters if anyone believes._

_It’s funny that you wrote me because I recently got a call from Harry’s daughter. She hoped I was doing okay, too. Can’t say the same for myself, but she’s doing really good. Going to a university and living with her friend. So you’ve got a daughter, huh? It’s good that she keeps you company. Being alone can be a terrible thing. I’m sure we know that better than most._

_As to the other question, the one about the nightmares.. I wish I could tell you differently, Mr. Sunderland, but it’s a part of us.  But despite everything that’s happened, I think there’s still a place to get to. Somewhere we don’t have to be in shackles because of all we can’t forget. Finding this place is only half the battle. We have to capture it._

_I spent only one night of my life running around in fog, wondering if I were really awake, or if it were just a terrible dream, like the dreams I had when I was young. I could never do anything when my Mama and my Papa died in those dreams. The man got away every time. It all hasn’t left me. And I’m sure you’ve got things you can’t fix, either. But there’s still somewhere to get to. I’m sure of it._

_You asked me if I think there’s such a thing as happiness. ‘The thing you find and seize’ and don’t let go of. It’s not a silly question, so don’t feel bad. Let me tell you, I’m halfway through this life and I’m still waiting on a lot of answers._

Frank squeezed his shoulder, peering at the letter from behind James. His son smirked and folded the letter, stuffing it in his pants. Laura, who had been fixated on the picture of Thelma, turned to consider him. So, Cybil had written back.

 

 

**7.**

Laura placed little Cynthia on a zebra spring rider and placed the child’s hands on the handles. “Hold on,” she said. She pushed the edge back and let her sway back and forth gently. Cynthia made her adorable, toothy smile. Eileen, who stood behind her, laughed and clapped her hands together.

From the bench, Henry and James watched Laura and Cynthia at play. Eileen, since giving birth, had involved James, Laura, and Frank heavily in Cynthia’s life. Frank had declined the offer of being the godfather due to his age, and so the honorable title had been passed on to James. He wouldn’t know the first thing about raising a child, having been declined from keeping Laura all those years ago, but Eileen resolved to teach him. It was agreed that the godfather would have to babysit when the parents were out. Henry had laughed at this, being such an inclusive person he couldn’t think of where he’d ever want to go, but apparently they’d be going to Jamaica next year whether he liked it or not.

James had fond memories of his own honeymoon and its subsequent anniversary, despite the fact that they were spent in Silent Hill. Regardless of what it could force you to face, Mary had loved that town and it held a special place in her heart. James had obvious reasons to doubt its sacredness, but a happy memory didn’t lose its meaning no matter where it was spent.

_So, happiness. Is it real? I don’t know. Maybe._

_Whether or not it exists in the way we hope it does, when all’s said and done.._

Barely hanging on all his life, he stumbled onto the platform one day and his eyes fell on her, out of every single person there. And she found him amid a bustling crowd, jam packed into a subway train, staring back with those eyes, wondering if it were true. Little did she know, he had wondered the same thing.

_Happiness is all we can really hope for._

And James listened to the laughter of them, thinking that even if he didn’t understand it, happiness left little to be understood and more to be felt. All he knew was that he could never think about giving this up for anything. What he had found, he would never let go of.

_I want you to live for yourself now, James._

He would see his promise through. This he knew.


End file.
